


Breaking All the Rules

by griever11



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, No island, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-02-27 18:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griever11/pseuds/griever11
Summary: Five letters that were never meant to be sent, two ex-friends who soon rediscover their friendship, and one fake relationship that honestly, isn't really fake at all.Or, you can't really pretend to be dating each other when what you really want is to be really dating each other.An Olicity AU, loosely based on To All the Boys I've Loved Before.





	1. Chapter 1

“Good afternoon, Oliver. Nice to see you again.”

 

Oliver makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, shifts in the overstuffed single seater couch and very determinedly doesn’t look at Doctor Bryne. Her office, as usual, is bright and sunny, projecting an easy atmosphere meant to lull her clients into a false sense of comfort and security. Until she tricks them into doing emotionally scarring homework that forces them to reveal their deepest darkest secrets, that is.

 

“You with me, Oliver?”

 

He sighs and nods. Bravely meets his therapist's inquisitive gaze, though he remains stubbornly silent. 

 

"Want to talk about your week?" 

 

He answers her with a shrug and the two of them lapse into silence once more. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, second after second, and Oliver feels like walking up to it and jamming his fist right into the damn thing to shut it up. Doctor Bryne picks up on his reluctant mood, mainly because it's her job, but also probably because he's not being very subtle about being annoyed by the damn grandfather clock, glaring at it every other second or so. 

 

She clears her throat. “You know, this is our very last session -”

 

“Oh. trust me, I know,” Oliver mutters. He's been looking forward to this since the very _first_ session he'd been forced to go to by Queen Consolidated's board of directors. But then, after a beat, he composes himself and smiles apologetically at her. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. This week has good, better than expected, to be honest. Walter’s transitioned a lot more responsibility into my portfolio and it’s been a great experience.”

 

Doctor Bryne nods, her face betraying nothing. She taps her pen against the notebook she has open in her lap and scribbles something in it. “And outside of work?”

 

_I’ve been home for six weeks and I still feel like I’m not home, home. My sister hates me because I’m moving out of the mansion. My ex-girlfriend is getting married to my best friend and my other so-called friends don’t think I’m capable of taking over Queen Consolidated so yeah, everything is messed up and shitty and I honestly just want to go home and drink myself stupid so._

 

“Fine too,” he lies easily. “Thea and I are working on getting back to where we were. To how we were before I left for Wharton.” Less of an outright lie, more of a white lie.

 

Doctor Bryne thinks that his relationship with Thea had only deteriorated because of their mother’s recent death, but the truth is that even before he left to finish his business degree five years ago, long before Moira’s death, things between them had already been rocky, at best.

 

She doesn’t need to know that though.  

 

“Good, good. And how did that reunion go, the one you mentioned the last time you were here?”

 

“Uh, great,” he answers quickly, but cringes when Doctor Bryne tilts her head and cocks her eyebrow.

 

“You don't sound very sure about that.”

 

He curses inwardly. She’s a witch. A witch who uses her powers to pull the truth out of him no matter how much he doesn’t want her to.

 

“As great as it could be, I suppose. Considering the history between the me and the Lances.”

 

Laurel had given him the cold shoulder all night, and Sara had also been in attendance at that reunion, which only served to increase the undercurrent of tension between the three of them. Tommy had run interference between them whenever he could, but it only made things weirder and he’d never been more grateful to leave a party early in his entire life.

 

“Do you think that you’re still harbouring some unresolved feelings about what happened between the three of you?”

 

Oliver frowns, shaking his head. “It all happened a long time ago. I know I hurt Laurel and Sara. Hell, I hurt a lot of people when I was younger. I was an idiot then, but I’ve moved on. I’m sure they have as well."

 

“Have you moved on?”

 

He glares at Doctor Bryne, willing himself not to roll his eyes. “Yes.”

 

“Hm.”

 

God he hates this. Hates that his carefully stitched up exterior, perfected by the years he spent away from Starling, keeps getting methodically picked apart seam by seam by this witchy woman. Yes, he has moved on, thank you very much.

 

His father's death had been a complete shock to his system, and though he's not using that as an excuse for his behaviour, he knows it contributed to it. His entire world had turned on its axis, and suddenly he'd been thrusted unwillingly into the role of man of the house and he'd hated it. Hated it so much he did everything he could to sabotage himself. 

 

Cheating on his Laurel with her sister, subsequently leaving so much pain and destruction in his path, had pretty much been one of the lowest points in his life at the time and when he finally got his head out of his ass, he decided it was best for everyone if he took himself out of the equation and left for college.

 

But it’s been five years since then. Of course he’s moved on.

 

“I know this is our last session together, and I won’t be able to follow up, but I have a proposition for you.” The doctor snaps her notebook shut and smiles at him. “I want you to write letters to the people you think you’ve hurt in the past. Don’t send them, unless you really want to. Get it all out, everything you wished you could have said to them, things you wish you could have explained. Write the letters, seal them up, and then see how that makes you feel.”

 

“Excuse me?” It sounds incredibly useless, in his opinion. Writing letters? To... the innumerable amount of people he’d been an ass to in his younger years? Yeah, no way. He shakes his head. “Uh, I think not.”  

 

“It’s up to you,” she tells him, getting up from her seat, clicking her pen. “But I think it would be a good exercise to finish with.”

 

“I’ll, uh, think about it.” Oliver stands up as well, relieved their time has come to an end. _Forever._ He’s finally free of his mandatory grief counselling sessions and he can say goodbye to these soul-baring, entirely too emotionally draining sessions for the rest of his life.

* * *

 

The stack of papers on the desk in the mansion’s library is mocking him. As much as a pile of paper can mock him, obviously.

 

Sheets of white against the dark brown, solid mahogany surface, reflecting the light from the desk lamp back at him. Despite his earlier reservations, something Doctor Bryne said earlier had struck a chord with him.

 

Maybe it _would_ be good to get everything out. Putting real words to the cacophony of thoughts and feelings that have been jumbled up in his head might go a long way to help him navigate the tricky waters of his life now that he’s back in Starling. Help him get perspective, or whatever.

 

And it wouldn't be too bad if it’s not to _everyone_ he’s hurt - he wouldn't know where to start... but if he narrowed it down to five? That’s a more reasonable number. 

 

_5 People Oliver Queen Screwed Over Because He Was An Idiot._

 

He chuckles bitterly to himself. Buzzfeed would have a great time with this, wouldn't they? 

 

Oliver pulls the chair at the desk out, settling in. Can’t write to mom and dad, he sighs ruefully. Although, if he isn’t _sending_ the letters, does it matter? In the end, he decides against them anyway. He’s made his peace with his parents; he came home to honour their legacy, finally understanding his place in the family. There’s no need to ‘let go’ of anything there.

 

So not his parents. But... _Laurel_ , of course. Top of the list, for sure. Sara. Shado. McKenna, who unfortunately had been a victim of circumstance. In hindsight, getting together so soon after his mother’s death was never going to be a good idea, but she deserved more than him ghosting her after they slept together and... best to put that in the letter, actually.

 

And the fifth letter?

 

He taps his pen thoughtfully against the table. He really doesn't want all his letters to be for his ex-girlfriends like they’re turning out to be, but the reality of it is that he _has_ hurt a lot of women in his past and that's just how it is. It does leave a terrible taste in his mouth though, because it serves as yet another reminder of the kind of asshole he used to be, and he doesn't like that guy. Doesn't like how he took his relationships, both romantic and not, for granted and - _oh._

 

A face flashes in his mind suddenly: young and adorable, cute glasses, brilliant smile slowly fading when she realises he’s making fun of her in front of all their friends. She doesn’t know he’s only teasing her because he feels stupid, because she’s insanely smart and that making fun of her glasses and her Star Wars dress makes him better about himself.

 

Felicity.

 

She hadn’t been a girlfriend; not even a friend, really. He remembers her being charming, funny when she wanted to be, and always had something nice to say about everyone. She had the tendency to run her mouth when she got nervous, and was very mature for her age. She was younger than he was, but she skipped a couple of grades so they had classes together, she even tutored him for one brief term, and ended up going to a few of the same parties.

 

It was during one of these parties that he’d fucked up, and he will never be able to forget the way her smile slowly morphed into the saddest frown he’s ever seen in his life, like he’d extinguished all the light in her. He’d wanted to take it all back straight away and tell her that he thinks she’s really pretty and has really nice eyes and her Star Wars dress is actually pretty cool - but everyone around them was laughing with him, and the obnoxious, self-centred idiot he’d been had enjoyed the attention.

 

Years have passed since then, people have come and go and he's survived the deaths of both his parents but he’s never been able to forget that one particular night. He doesn't dwell on why exactly that night's stuck with him, but he knows that it's important and he makes his decision right then.

 

Laurel, Sara, Shado, McKenna, Felicity. 

 

He straightens in his seat, grabs his pen, and pulls a sheet of paper towards him. 

 

Let the letting go begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver realises that maybe listening to his therapist was more trouble than it's worth.

Thea makes her displeasure very known as they move his things out of the Queen mansion and into his new two bedroom apartment in the city. His sister communicates in scowls and huffs and snide muttering under her breath, but Oliver doesn’t pay her any mind. He knows she’s playing it up for the attention and the sooner he moves everything in, the sooner he can give her that attention.

 

“Look, there’s a spare bedroom, so you can live here with me, if you wanted to,” Oliver tells her for the umpteenth time as he puts the last of his boxes down in the living room.

 

She drops the box she’s carrying unceremoniously onto the floor, then flops down onto his brand new couch. “Why can’t we live together at _home?_ ”

 

He sighs and goes for the honest truth. “The mansion doesn’t feel like home to me anymore, Speedy.” And plus, now that he’s shadowing Walter at work, it’s just weird to be living with his boss. Step-dad or not.

 

“That’s because you left us for like, a million years. Of course it doesn’t feel like home. You didn’t even _try_ to make it a home when you came back! You just... returned and decided to move out. Like Walter and I were diseases or whatever.”

 

A part of him shrivels up with guilt at the bitter tone in her voice. He recognises her theatrics as her way of expressing how much she’s going to miss him, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. He sits down on the arm of the couch, ruffling Thea’s hair. “I was _at college_ for five years. I didn’t just leave for no reason.”

 

“Yeah, but if mom hadn’t died, would you have come back?”

 

The question stuns him. It’s the first time she’s talked about their mother’s death quite so candidly and hearing it out in the open, outside the confines of the four walls of his therapist’s office is jarring, to say the least. He gives some thought to what he’s going to say, because Thea deserves that much.

 

“I would have,” he tells her. “Maybe... not quite so soon, but the plan was always for me to come back to Starling. Please believe me. It was never my intention to leave you alone for long.”

 

Thea fiddles with the hem of her shirt, biting her bottom lip as she stews in her thoughts. Oliver allows her the time, silently marveling at how much Thea’s grown up in his absence. The pang of guilt returns, and he swallows the lump of regret in his throat. Not for the first time, he questions his decision to leave Starling and whether trying to find himself was really worth this divide between them.

 

“Fine. I believe you,” Thea says after a moment, her hand seeking his for a gentle squeeze. “About coming back.”

 

Oliver releases a breath of relief. “Good. That’s... good.”  

 

“Anyway, this is a pretty cool apartment, so it's not so bad, big brother.” She climbs off the couch and wanders to the big window overlooking the city, seemingly placated for now.

 

He joins her by the window, nudging her with his shoulder. “So, are you done sulking about me moving out now? Can you actually help me start unpacking?”

 

“I wasn’t sulking,” Thea denies half-heartedly. “But I already helped you pack up the library and your bedroom _and_ carry all these boxes up here, why do I have to help you unpack too?”

 

“‘Cause you love me?” Oliver tries, but when Thea’s phone buzzes with a text message and she starts replying to it, he knows she's a lost cause.

 

Sure enough, when she looks up from her phone, she shrugs and pockets her phone. “Uh, nah. I gotta run. I’ve fulfilled all my sisterly duties for the day, don’t you think?”

 

Oliver chuckles. “Fine, fine. Can you drop off some paperwork at the mailbox downstairs on your way out though?”

 

Thea nods as she grabs her bag and turns to leave. “Sure, these ones?”

 

He glances up at her, standing by the kitchen counter in front a box of what looks like the change of address paperwork he filled out the night before. “Yeah, that should be them. Just send them all off for me, will you?”

 

He hears her grunt of acknowledgement before his front door slams and figures that’s a good enough confirmation as he’ll get from her.

 

He doesn’t see Thea’s text until much later when he’s exhausted and aching from lugging furniture around his apartment, so he doesn’t give it a second thought when he eventually reads it, just before his head hits his pillow.

 

_‘Some of your letters didn’t have stamps. Got them for you, you owe me $2.50.'_

* * *

   
In the six weeks since he started shadowing Walter, getting ready to take over the CEO mantle, Oliver learns the hard way that even though he’d done well at business school, his time there hadn’t quite prepared him to navigate managing a multi-billion dollar company in real life.

 

For one, there are a lot of politics involved. People management, as Walter calls it. Add that to the fact that most of the employees there still see him as colossal screw-up Ollie Queen, and he finds himself in a situation where going to work is akin to trying to avoid landmine after landmine of judgment, skepticism and disbelief from the people who supposedly work _for_ him.

 

It’s rough. Very rough.

 

He hasn’t been able to meet everyone in the company yet, but he thinks he has at least the personnel in their Business Acquisitions division sorted. He spends time getting to know the people who work there, learning their names and what they do. At lunch, he makes a point to venture out down to the company cafeteria, knowing that people tend to be less formal and open to casual conversation when there’s food involved.

 

Which is why, today, just as he shuts his computer down for lunch and the phone on his desk rings, a surge of irritation flashes through him.  

 

He picks it up, glaring at his EA through the glass wall that separates them. “Yeah?”

 

“Um, the Assistant Director of Applied Sciences wants to speak to you.”

 

“Can you take a message? I’m just about to step out for -”

 

“Her assistant says it’s urgent, sir.”

 

Oliver sighs. “Fine, put her through.”

 

“She wants to talk to you in her her office, sir.”

 

What? He has no idea who this person is, but she’s got a lot of nerve to request a last minute meeting of him like this. He lifts his gaze to his EA only to have her shrug at him. He sifts through his mental catalogue of names to try and remember who exactly the Assistant Director of Applied Sciences is, but he comes up empty.

 

He hasn’t made it down to the other departments of the company yet, and honestly, whenever anyone brings up anything related to the tech department, he zones out. It’s hard to keep up with any of the techno jargon, so Applied Sciences isn’t quite on the top of his list of departments to familiarise himself with.

 

“Tell her I’m on my way, but it’ll have to be quick.” He hangs up before his EA can reply, straightening his tie and making his way to the bank of elevators on his floor.

 

The trip down takes barely any time, and when the doors slide open, he strides purposefully to the row of executive offices further down the hallway. He attracts more than a few interested stares as he makes his way there, and he nods politely to those who make eye contact with him.

 

“Mr. Queen, hi.” A young man stops him just as he approaches what he assumes is her office. “Miss Smo-”

 

“I can see myself in, thanks,” he cuts him off, side stepping the man and pushing his way into the office.

 

Only to stop in his tracks when he realises exactly _who_ the Assistant Director of Applied Sciences is.

 

His breath catches in his chest, throat constricting, and he blinks dumbly at the woman staring back at him from behind her desk.

 

She’s no longer brunette, her hair instead a stunning golden yellow, tied back in a sleek ponytail. She still has glasses, but where she’d been adorable all those years ago, she’s now strikingly beautiful. Her eyes are a startling blue, cheeks defined and full and her lips a bright pink that contrasts amazingly against her pale skin.

 

Felicity works _here?_

 

“Fe-”

 

She lifts a hand and he falls silent.

 

“Mr. Queen,” she greets him cooly. “Glad you’re here.”

 

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, unable to reconcile the fact that the woman before him is the same girl he’d just been thinking about a few days ago.

 

“I, uh... hi. Hi, Felicity. you ... work here?”

 

Felicity rounds her desk, peering curiously at him through her glasses. She leans a hip against the edge of her desk, frowning sightly. The term _sexy librarian_ pops up in his head unbidden and he almost chokes at the thought.

 

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis. Okay. And yes, _Oliver,_ I work here. Hence the office.”

 

He finds himself on the receiving end of a very pointed eyeroll and okay, yeah. Dumb question, but he’s still shaken by the fact that Felicity Smoak, the girl he just wrote a really long, slightly overwrought letter to a few days ago, is right there, standing in front of him.

 

“Sorry, I’m still finding my way around the company,” he explains. “I knew that we hired a brilliant I.T specialist for the position, but I didn’t expect... I mean, not that you don’t deserve it, of course, but I... um.”

 

The look on her face is reminiscent of the ones she used to give him back in school, like she has no patience for him, stern and with so much disdain reflected in her eyes. So it’s no surprise that that he feels just as stupid around her as he did then, despite the years that have gone by since the last time he saw her.

 

And what exactly does it say about him that within seconds of seeing her, she’s reduced him to nothing more than a bumbling idiot, years of business school be damned?

 

He clears his throat, shaking off the wave of self-doubt crashing into him. “Um, what did you need to see me about?”

 

She quirks an eyebrow and purses her lips. “Really?”

 

Okay, what’s he missing here?

 

She narrows her eyes at him with hands crossed in front of her chest, exuding an aura of ‘don’t try to be funny, Oliver’, even though he really has no idea what any of this is about.

 

“Know what this is?” Felicity says eventually, acid coating her words as she slides an envelope across her desk towards him. It’s torn open, the contents of it halfway out.

 

His blood freezes in his veins.

 

Oh no.

 

_To: Felicity Smoak_

 

The handwriting on it is his, scrawled hastily on the envelope once he’d finished writing her letter.

 

The _letter._

 

His heart hammers in his chest and he’s unable to speak, terror trickling in cold drips down his spine. The things he’d written in her letter, what he’d confessed...  his fingers twitch at his side, itching to grab the letter of the desk but he _can’t move._

 

He can only watch in stunned silence as she pries the envelope open and flips the letter out, letting it unfold and then proceeds to read out loud from it. She doesn’t start at the beginning, instead she recites a paragraph closer to the end, her voice getting stonier by the second.  

 

“You were so smart and intimidating that the only way I knew to talk to you was by teasing you. I see that was a dumb thing to do now, and in hindsight I think maybe I was attracted to how smart you were and I didn’t understand why you -”

 

He flicks his gaze up to her, snatching the letter out of her hand before she gets to the most embarrassing part of the letter.

 

“I know what I wrote, you don’t have repeat it to me!” he snaps, though he doesn’t mean to. The embarrassment takes over and his cheeks feel so warm, his skin is tingling and he thinks that he’s just about no the verge of fainting, but she pins him to the spot with a sharp glare.

 

“Oh, you don’t get to be grumpy at _me_ about this. Nuh-uh. Why did you write this?” she demands. “Why _now?_ I haven’t talked to you in years, and suddenly this _love letter_ lands in my in-tray, at _work,_ no less and - _"_

 

“It’s not a _love letter!_ You weren’t meant to get it!” he interjects, just a little bit hysterical, shoving the letter into his pocket. “I didn’t even address yours, how did it get to you?”

 

Felicity blinks at him in disbelief. “You didn’t need to address mine, everyone in Starling knows I work here, except... _you,_ apparently. Youngest executive hired by Queen Consolidated, ever. You put my name on the envelope, of course they’re going to send it here.”

 

“I didn’t - I don’t know how this happened!” he stutters.

 

Oh, but he does.Realisation dawns upon him. 

 

_Thea._

 

Vaguely, he remembers the text she sent about getting stamps and with absolute spine-chilling horror, he realises what else this means.

 

She sent the letters to everyone.

 

 _Everyone_ he wrote to. No. No, no no no no.

 

“Look, Felicity,” his brain scrambles to think of something, anything, to do some damage control over the situation. “This is all a -”

 

“Miss Smoak?”

 

He whirls around at the interruption to see Felicity’s assistant peer into the office with an apologetic look on his face. “Laurel Lance is coming down here to see Mr. Queen, and she insists on seeing him. Now. I told her her you two were in a meeting but I don’t think she um, cares.”

 

Felicity scowls and curses under her breath at the same time he hears Laurel’s voice float down the hallway outside the office.

 

“Ollie? Are you down here?”

 

Felicity’s assistant smiles sympathetically at both of them. “Mmhm, I’m not stickign around for this, so I'm gonna go on my lunch break, see ya!”

 

Oliver cringes, goosebumps forming on his skin, hair standing on end. This day cannot get any worse. In the entire history of his existence, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this trapped in his own body, wishing he could be anywhere but where he is right now.

 

Laurel would have received his letter too. And if he thought Felicity’s letter had been embarrassing, Laurel’s... well. It wasn’t pretty.

 

He spins around and approaches Felicity, shaking with panic. _“Help me,”_ he pleads. “Please!”

 

“Help you what?” Felicity asks, eyes wide with bewilderment.

 

“I wrote Laurel a letter too,” he explains hurriedly. The words spill out of his mouth in a torrent of desperation. “I wrote stuff that... that’s besides the point. But I don’t want her to think I still have feelings for her so you need to pretend to be my girlfriend, please just for now.”

 

“Excuse me?” Felicity scoffs. “I don’t need to do anything for you. In fact, I -”

 

“Ollie?” The hair at the back of his neck prickle with dread. God, why does Laurel's voice sound so grating? Has it always been this way?  

 

“Please,” he begs. He’ll get on his knees if he has to. “Just this once. I promise.”

 

Something in his expression must soften her because thankfully after a pause for effect, she huffs, rolls her eyes and then nods once, curtly. “Fine.”

 

Laurel bursts into the office just as Oliver lunges forward so he’s standing face to face with Felicity, with his back to the door, very much in Felicity's personal space, grabbing her hands in his for sheer measure.  

 

“Ollie?”

 

“Miss Lance, this is highly inappropriate,” Felicity says in a smooth drawl as she inches up on her toes, tilting her head to the side so she can see past his shoulder. “We’re busy.”

 

“I need to talk to Oliver.” Laurel announces, blatantly ignoring Felicity’s mutinous glare.

 

Oliver turns around slowly, tense, hoping to God that - nope. There it is. In Laurel's hand, an envelope similar to the one on Felicity’s desk.  

 

Damn it to hell.

 

“Laurel, what are you doing here?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him. He squeezes Felicity’s hand subconsciously, and finds comfort in the fact that she hasn't pulled away. “You heard Felicity. We’re busy.”

 

He watches Laurel’s eyes dart from him to Felicity, taking in the sight before her. Then she looks down at their joined hands and blinks twice. She’s confused by what she’s seeing, if the pinched expression on her face is any indication.

 

“I, uh.” The hand holding the envelope disappears behind her. “But you’re... are you two...”

 

“Busy, yes, like we've told you,” Oliver supplies tersely. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend what little we have left of our lunch hour with my girlfriend, thank you very much.”

 

Felicity snorts quietly next to him, but says nothing. She does however step closer to him so her body is completely pressed up against his. He sends a silent thank you to the whatever deity is watching down on him that she is actually playing along with his dumb scheme.

 

“Girlfriend, huh?” Laurel repeats, with what he thinks is the very forced smile on her face. “That’s great, Ollie. Really great. At the reunion you seemed a little off,” Laurel continues. “And I thought maybe you didn’t like seeing me and Tommy together and then I got this...”

 

 _“Hun,”_ Felicity stops her with a voice that drips with contempt, which makes him wonder briefly if there’s something else he’s missing about her relationship with Laurel that would warrant the tone.

 

Her fingers squeeze his tightly, on the edge of hurting him. “We should go, or the cafeteria is going to run out of those burgers I like.” It’s clear Felicity wants out of this situation just as much as he does and not one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, Oliver nods, pulling her away her from her desk.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” he tells Laurel, not at all feeling sorry. “We have to go. See you, Laurel.”

 

They edge past her at the doorway, Felicity throwing a flippant "I’m sure you can see yourself out!" at Laurel as they leave.

 

The rest of the floor is thankfully empty with everyone else out for lunch. They make it halfway towards the elevators when Felicity tugs her fingers out of his and slams the back of her hand against his shoulder.

 

“Jesus, what was that for?” he hisses as he rubs at the spot.

 

Felicity rolls her eyes at him. “Exactly how many women did you confess your undying love to?”

* * *

 

 “People are staring at us.”

 

Oliver shrugs, biting into his burger with nonchalance. He chews silently - at least he’s polite - and swallows before replying. “So? Let them. Eat your burger.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she grumbles, taking the bun off her burger and sighing. Stupid pickles. She picks them out and drops them onto the side of the plate. She replaces the bun but doesn’t do anything else. Burgers are messy and she’s clumsy and even though she likes to tell herself she doesn’t care what people think, this is _Oliver_ sitting across from her. God forbid she drips burger juice all over her chin and he’s right there to laugh at her, like it’s high school all over again.

 

“Can’t you go sit somewhere else?” she asks, giving Scott from Accounting a _look_ when she catches him staring at the two of them before he scurries away with his head down.

 

“What, why? I want to have lunch with you,” Oliver says, not at all bothered by the attention they’re attracting. He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “With my girlfriend.”

 

“I’m not your real girlfriend.”

 

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

 

Okay, that’s a little offensive, even if she does want the charade to end. _Obviously?_ Like he thinks she isn’t good enough to be his girlfriend unless they’re pretending? She kicks him under the table and Oliver jerks backwards in surprise. “What?”

 

“If it’s so obvious, can you go and leave me alone then?”

 

He puts down his food and folds his hands in front of him, blinking at her in an almost adorably confused way. Almost. “Why can’t we finish lunch together?”

 

“We don’t speak for years, then you come back from college and suddenly you want to have lunch together? Oliver, come on. What are you doing?”

 

“Having lunch,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s being obtuse on purpose, she realises, because there’s a twitch in his eye every time someone walks into the cafeteria, and he’s clearly not as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. He’s probably still wary that Laurel might ambush them again.

 

“No, with the letters,” she clarifies.

 

When he doesn’t respond, determined not to make eye contact with her, she tries a different tactic. “Y’know, for a second, I thought I was special, but sending love letters to five different women makes me feel _really_ cheap.”

 

Oliver chokes mid-swallow and has to wipe his chin with a serviette before ducking his head and glaring at her. Finally, a reaction.

 

“One, don’t talk so loudly, and two, they’re _not_ love letters. I told you, they were for therapy.”

 

“Your therapist told you to write about how my glasses accentuate the sparkle in my eyes every time I talked about movies and college applica-”

 

_“Shh!”_

 

Felicity chuckles. Oh, this is kind of _fun._

 

Oliver Queen had always been a sore spot for her through her formative years. They went to the same high school and had classes together. She even tutored him for Chemistry once and he’d been so nice to her then. He was hopeless at it, of course, but he listened to her the entire term as she babbled on about equations and covalent bonds and had offered to drive her home more than once.

 

But then the holidays hit and when everyone returned to school, it was like he’d become a completely different person. He wasn’t necessarily mean to her, but on the occasions they crossed paths, he’d say things that really hurt for no apparent reason, and the worst part was she never understood why.

 

He’s the mystery she never got to solve.

 

“I don’t get why you’re embarrassed,” she sing-songs. It’s funny, she thinks, that she gets to tease him now, when he used to do it all the time to her when they were younger. “You’re the one who wrote it, Romeo.”

 

“For myself!” Oliver exclaims. He runs his fingers through his hair, and then down his face, drawing attention to the fact that he’s grown out of his boyish looks and is instead all _man_ now, with his masculine jawline and so very roguishly handsome face.

 

He sucks in a breath and leans forward. “Felicity, look. I’m sorry I blindsided you with the letter. You were never meant to read it, but... um. I guess the point was to make amends with people I’ve hurt in my life, and you were one of them. So, in a way, I’m glad you did. And I am sorry. Honestly. For being a dick and for the things I said to you. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

 

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she lets his words sink in. When she opened the weird envelope that morning, she’d thought it had been a big joke. Oliver Queen, one-time most popular jock of Starling High, apologising for his behaviour, confessing that he may have found her attractive, even though he’d teased her mercilessly about her geeky she was?

 

She’d been infuriated, confused, and so ticked off, convinced that it was some kind of tasteless prank - God knows she’s been on the receiving end of enough of those in her entire lifetime. But hearing it out loud is an entirely different experience; the sincerity in his words seems genuine and heartfelt and she lets herself believe him. This time.

 

She manages to keep herself from asking about the part where he wrote about being captivated by her babbling and attracted to her intelligence, deciding instead to focus on the part where he’s sorry for being a moron. The less awkward, less embarrassing option.

 

“Apology accepted, I guess,” she concedes, before finally taking a bite out of her burger.

 

The look of relief on Oliver’s face is instantaneous and despite her lingering reservations, she’s starting to think that maybe he really has grown out of being the obnoxious prick he’d been in high school. Which is... nice.  

 

“Thank you, Felicity. You don’t know how much that means to me.” He abandons the rest of his burger, tosses his serviettes onto the tray and she’s bestowed with a heart-stopping lopsided grin. “Maybe there is something to this whole therapy thing after all, huh?”

 

“You might want to rethink that when all the other women come after you demanding an explanation.” She hums with delight at the panic on Oliver’s face. “Laurel, for one, didn’t look too pleased with you. I can’t imagine any of the other three feeling any differently.”

 

And with that, she stands up with her tray, winking at him smugly. “I think I’m going to have the rest of my lunch in my office now. Bye, Oliver!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: @griever_11
> 
> Comments and kudos, are as usual, appreciated like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold, winter's day. Happy finale week, all!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are afoot.

_‘Hey Ollie what’s the snail mail version of new phone who dis?’_

 

Oliver groans as he reads the text message from Sara, flinging his phone to the other end of the couch.

 

Great.

 

Guess it really was too much to ask that all the other letters somehow got lost in transit. His phone buzzes again and he retrieves his phone with a sigh, pulling up the new message. Might as well get it over with.

 

_'Not that I’m not flattered, because I am, but what we did was a colossal mistake and we’re not going to go there ever, ever again, okay? I’m in a good place with Laurel right now. Kind of.'_

 

Okay. That doesn't sound too horrible. 

 

Sara’s not pissed off at him if the lack of exclamation marks is any indication. And he’s relieved that they’re in agreement about not repeating their past mistakes, so all in all, a much better outcome than he had expected.

 

_‘It was a therapy exercise that was never meant to see the light of day,’_ he responds. _‘But you’re right. Never again.’_

 

Sara sends a thumbs up emoji, followed by a huge red ‘X’ and that, Oliver thinks, spells the end of that. Thankfully.

 

Sara’s always been laid back and relaxed about life in general, the exact opposite to Laurel, which, is probably one of the reasons (the others being that he was an idiot and a selfish prick) he’d cheated on Laurel with her.  

 

He leans his head over the back of his couch, feeling the nervous tension he’s been carrying all day slowly roll off him in waves. There’s a still a chance Shado’s and McKenna’s have gone missing in the post since he never addressed them properly so he’s just going to forget about this entire ordeal for the night and settle in for a quiet one.

 

Then someone knocks on his front door and he knows he’s foolishly jinxed himself.  

 

“Oliver! You home?!” Tommy’s distinctive voice carries from his front door right through his apartment.  

 

He frowns as he gets up from his couch to let him in. His best friend stands awkwardly at his doorway, hands in his pockets. He looks frazzled, a little worse for wear. “Hey, Tommy. What’s up?”

 

“Um, it’s kinda... I’m here for a really weird reason,” Tommy supplies as he steps inside. “Nice place.”

 

Oliver shuts the door behind him, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks, you want a beer? I was just about to -”

 

Tommy shakes his head, turning around and squares his shoulders. “Ah. I can’t stay long. Thursday night dinner with Quentin, you know how it is.”

 

Oliver cringes on the inside. It will never _not_ be weird that Tommy’s marrying Laurel. For so long, throughout their entire teenage years in fact, it had been _Oliver_ who had been subjected to the weekly Lance dinners where you had to turn up on time or face the wrath of Quentin Lance.

 

“Yeah, I sure do,” Oliver nods sympathetically. He grins, trying to inject some levity into the suddenly a little tense vibe between them. “Don’t miss that, at all. Lucky you, huh?”

 

His attempt falls flat and Tommy merely shrugs. “Ye-aah. So anyway, I’m here because of this.”

 

Tommy digs into his pocket and pulls out, to Oliver’s eternal dread and horror, the very creased and crumpled envelope Laurel had brandished at him this morning in Felicity’s office.  

 

Great. The gift that keeps on giving. Can he ask for a refund on his therapy bill? Because this exercise is turning out to be far more stress-inducing than it was worth. 

 

“Tommy, look, it's not what you -”

 

“I don’t want your excuses, I just want to know what you’re trying to achieve here, Ollie,” his friend says firmly, making Oliver wonder if some of Quentin’s brutishness has rubbed off on him.

 

Tommy’s always been the more easy-going one between the two of them, but tonight the person standing in front of him is a far cry from the boy who thought peeing on cop cars was a good way to waste time. There isn’t a hint of mirth or teasing in his expression and it’s weird.

 

Oliver doesn’t like where he thinks this is going.

 

“Nothing. I wasn’t trying to do or achieve anything.” His hand curls into fists by his side. “I wrote the letter to find closure. Tommy, I swear to you, I don’t have feelings for her anymore. t was never meant to be delivered to her. The letter was for _therapy._ ” Oliver repeats for what seems like the millionth time that day.

 

“Okay, but it was delivered and in it, you said she was the love of your life! What kind of crackpot therapist -”

 

Oliver’s eye narrows. “I said I _thought_ she _could have been_ the love of my life, but _I was wrong,”_ Oliver corrects, calling up the exact words he’d used in the letter. “Did you even read the letter?” He rolls his neck, trying to figure out a way to convince his friend that he truly is over Laurel.

 

Tommy licks his lips, still looking grim, unconvinced, the dumb envelope hanging from his fingers. “I didn’t have to read it, Laurel gave me the Cliff’s Notes version. Look, I don’t blame you if you still have feelings for her, you guys were together forever but Laurel and I -”

 

“We might have been together for a long time but we aren’t anymore. The two of _you_ are,” Oliver snaps, frustrated. “Isn’t that what matters? I haven’t spoken to her - we weren't in contact the entire time I was away.”

 

“You broke up and got back together so many times, Oliver. You can’t blame me for thinking now that you’re back, you might... want to reconcile. And then Laurel told me that you guys had a moment this morning, what was I supposed to think, man?”

 

God, he wants to punch something. Badly.

 

Does his supposed best friend really think that little of him? That Oliver would return to Starling and jeopardise Tommy’s relationship with Laurel without a second thought? Anger bubbles in him and he barely suppresses an agitated growl.

 

Laurel. _Fuck_ Laurel.

 

She’s always had a cruel, vindictive side to her that had been amusing when they were younger. He knows better now, and after being on the receiving end on said cruel and vindictive side, he knows she only told Tommy about the letter to stir up some trouble between them. Because she’s the kind of person who thrives on this sort of drama and attention and obviously hasn't had her fill of it recently.

 

Hell, he’s positive Laurel told Tommy on purpose, because she’d been right there when he told her that Felicity was his _girlfriend_ so there's no reason _-_  oh.

 

“I have a _girlfriend_ ,” Oliver blurts out without thinking.

 

He regrets his outburst the moment Tommy’s Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face, his eyes glinting with interest. His entire face brightens.  

 

“Girlfriend? _Really_  ?"

 

Oliver pinches his lips together and swallows hard, cursing the way he let his irritation get the better of him. He blows out a careful breath. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But it’s new. We’re taking things slow.”

 

“No way.” Tommy stares at him, wide eyed. “After what happened with McKenna when you first got back, I thought you’d be done with dating for a while, but y’know what, no, I think this is great, Ollie!”

 

He smacks both his of his palms over Oliver’s shoulders, thrilled, visibly excited. Relieved that his best friend isn’t angling to steal his fiancee away from right under his nose.

 

Which is something Oliver is still very annoyed about, since it isn’t something Tommy should have even considered could happen in the first place.  

 

“I knew it was just a matter of time before you got back in the game. This is _perfect._ Bring her to Verdant’s opening night, will you? The more the merrier!”

 

Oh, _crap._

 

His blood runs icy cold. In the back of his mind, he conjures up Felicity’s scowling face, lips pressed together, and the echo of his voice promising her that their charade was just a _‘one time thing’._

 

“Tommy, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Nonsense! I want to meet her, Ollie!” Tommy pulls him in for a hug, oblivious to Oliver’s inner turmoil. “Any girl who can convince Oliver Queen to take things slow has got to be really special. I’ll put you down for a plus one and see you there, okay? Man, I’m so glad we sorted this whole letter thing out.”

 

His friend squeezes his shoulders one last time before side stepping past him towards his front door. “Gotta go now though, or Quentin will have my hide. See ya around, buddy!”  

 

Oliver can only look on in silence as Tommy waves goodbye and shuts the door behind him.

 

Felicity is going to _kill_ him.

* * *

 

It’s been a good day.

 

Fridays in general are usually great, but today - yeah. Her grant applications have all been approved by the board of directors, the two new interns who started this morning weren’t completely hopeless and the department just got a new coffee machine in the break room, which she will absolutely be making full use of all the time.

 

And to top it all off, she hasn’t even thought of Oliver Queen for a single second. Aside from just then, that is. Which is something she’s going to stop doing.

 

Right. Now.

 

Her computer chimes with a new email alert and she switches out of her coding program, only to frown at the subject line of the new message. And then she frowns even harder when she realises who it’s from.

 

_From: Ray Palmer_

_Subject: Coffee? Please?_

 

Going from one annoying billionaire to another equally, if not more annoying billionaire. Why is this her life right now?

 

“Doesn’t understand the meaning of not interested,” she mutters as she deletes the email.

 

They met by chance on a work trip in Central City, and while she’d been a little star-struck at first, because hello, _Ray Palmer_ , she found out soon enough that the guy was a class A creep. Intense and overbearing and despite being very clear about being not interested, he’s taken to sending her regular emails whenever he’s in town, asking to spend time with her.

 

What’s even more annoying is that she can’t set up a rule to filter emails from him and hide them in a folder she can ignore, because he’s Ray _fucking_ Palmer, and sometimes they do email each other about work so she can’t just blacklist him.

 

She narrows her eyes at her computer screen. _“Ugh.”_

 

“Bad day?”

 

Her head snaps up at the unfamiliar voice, groaning when she realises it belongs to the man she wasn’t supposed to think about anymore.

 

Seriously. This is her life. What the fuck?

 

“Oliver. What do you want?”

 

It occurs to her that he’s still her kind-of boss, and maybe she should ease up on the attitude, but then she remembers that he’s just a spoilt, entitled billionaire who’s ruining her Friday, and she keeps the scowl on her face.

 

“Oh, definitely getting bad day vibes from you,” he grins at her, sauntering to her desk and settling into the chair in front of her.

 

"You caused the bad vibes, actually," she mutters under her breath.

 

He places a cup of still steaming coffee in front of her. “I took the liberty of asking the cafe downstairs how you drink your coffee, skinny latte, two sugars?”

 

Huh. That’s surprisingly thoughtful of him. She looks at the coffee, then up at Oliver cautiously. “To what do I owe the honour?”

 

He fixes her with a brilliant smile, a dimple forming in his cheeks as he leans forward and places his hands on her desk. “I... have a favour to ask you.”

 

Ah, of course it’s a bribe. She pushes the cup away and wrinkles her nose at him. “No.”

 

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

 

“Whatever it is, _no,_ ” she replies resolutely.  

 

He ignores her. “I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend again. Please.”

 

_Is he serious?!_

 

“Are you kidding me?!” she snaps. “Do I look like some rent-a-girlfriend service to you? I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but this is so not how you ask a girl out on a date.” Oh. Crap. “Not that you’re asking me on a date, and I’m not looking to date you, or anyone, actually, because I’m busy and it’s just that -”

 

“Trust me, I am very aware that you’re not interested in dating me,” he interjects smoothly, a weird smile on his face. “No need to get all worked up about it. Message received loud and clear. But Tommy stopped by my place last night and misunderstood the letter that Laurel received and in my... _panic_ , I told him the same thing I told Laurel.”

 

“That we're dating.” she finishes for him.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay, so tell him we broke up.”

 

“I can’t. For one, he wants to meet you at Verdant’s opening, and two, if we’re dating,” he makes air quotes around the word, “then he won’t think I’m still in love with Laurel.”

 

“Are you?”

 

Oliver tilts his head at her. “What?”

 

“Still in love with Laurel,” she repeats.

 

“No. Not at all. But it would go a long way to convince him that I’m not if he thinks _we’re_ dating.” He quirks his eyebrows at her. “You see?”

 

“That is a really stupid way of convincing him.”

 

_“Yes,_ ” Oliver sighs with empathy. “But I’ve already told him about you, and if he finds out that I Iied about that, he’ll think I’m lying about being over Laurel and that’s going to cause a mess I really don’t want to deal with. So the easiest, most convenient way of sorting all of this out, is you pretending to be my girlfriend, and then when everything with the letter dies down, we can just... break up.”

 

“Nothing about this is easy, or convenient, you know that, right? We both have very public profiles. The moment we announce we’re together, it’s going to kick up a media storm and -”

 

“Can’t we just hang out for one night? Is being seen with me really that repulsive to you?” Oliver asks, and with the way his eyes go wide and his mouth snaps shut immediately, she thinks maybe he didn’t intend to let that thought be voiced out loud.

 

The notion that he’s harbouring some sort of deep-seated insecurity about his ‘dateability’ is laughable considering he’s _Oliver Queen_ but the way he refuses to meet her eyes right now, opting instead to stare at a spot behind her, with a faint blush in his cheeks, gives her pause.

 

She purses her lips at the uncomfortable silence that’s fallen upon them, fidgeting in her seat. The cheerful swagger Oliver had walked in with has dimmed a little and a part of her feels guilty, irrational as it may be, that she’d had some part to play in making that happen.

 

“You’re not repulsive,” she finds herself saying. “You _know_ you’re not repulsive.”

 

“Just not good enough to be seen dating the great Felicity Smoak,” he snarks bitterly. 

 

Finally conceding defeat, Oliver stands up and nods once. “God forbid anyone try to take you out for one potentially fun night. Fine. You win. Thanks for hearing me out anyway.”

 

And then, just as Oliver starts walking towards her office door, a reckless thought forms in her subconscious, sparked by something he said earlier.

 

Being seen with Oliver can’t be all that bad. It’s a great way to keep the tabloids off her case about being boring and ‘perpetually single’ and a ‘workaholic’ - their words, not hers.

 

And if it means people like Ray Palmer will stop harassing her about getting coffee, then...

 

Against her better judgement, and despite the warning bells going off inside her head, she screws her eyes shut and calls out to him.

 

“Oliver, wait...”

 

He turns around slowly, suddenly looking very eager and hopeful, hopeful energy rolling off him in waves. “Yes?”

 

“Verdant’s grand opening is tomorrow night?” she asks carefully.

 

Oliver all but scrambles back to her desk, perking up immediately, nearly blinding her with his grin. “Yes _._ Does that mean you’re -”

 

“I’m assuming Ray Palmer’s invited to that since it sounds like Tommy’s invited every hotshot he knows? Ray from Palmer Industries?”

 

Oliver’s lips curl up in disgust. Hm. _Interesting._

 

“If he’s in town, he probably is. Tommy wants all the ‘good press’ he can get so... yes. Probably.”

 

“Tell you what,” Felicity decides, against every instinct in her body that’s screaming at her to _‘Abort Mission Now!’_ . “I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, if you can make Ray Palmer believe that you're _my_ boyfriend. And that I’m _very_ unavailable for any and all of his stupid coffee dates.”

 

“Excuse me?” Oliver folds his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes at her, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. “Has he been bothering you?”

 

“No, calm down. He’s just very persistent. I’ve turned him down so many times, but I think he actually sees that as a reason to keep trying. It’s... exhausting,” she explains. “So... way I see it...”

 

“Quid pro quo?” Oliver chimes in.

 

Felicity arches an eyebrow, impressed that he knows the term.  Then remembers that he did just spend years getting his MBA and he is, in fact, not too bad at what he does.

 

“Mmhm. yes. I help you convince Tommy you’re not in love with his fiancee and you help keep people like Ray far, _far_ away from me. How does that sound?”

 

Oliver lets out a long sigh of relief, then holds out his fist in front of him. A giant wave of nostalgia washes over her.

 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity gives in, fist-bumping him the way they used to in school after figuring out a particularly complicated chemistry problem.

 

He beams at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in delight. “Sounds perfect to me!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love that you guys are loving this! Kudos and comments are much revered, like a certain throne in Westeros.
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	4. Chapter 4

 

The party is already in full swing by the time Felicity steps out of the cab, if the thumping music is anything to go by. Not for the first time that night, she finds herself second guessing her rather impulsive decision to go along with this plan because this is so not how she usually spends her Saturday nights these days.

 

_Yeesh._

 

It’s fine, she tells herself. Find Oliver, make sure people see them together, go home. Can’t be that bad, honestly.

 

“Felicity!”

 

Oliver appears, seemingly out of nowhere, looking... amazing. _Hot._ She’s used to seeing him in his business suits but tonight he’s opted for a more casual look; an un-tucked dark blue denim button up shirt, sleeves rolled up baring his very, very muscular forearms, over form fitting pants and fancy looking dress shoes.

 

“Like what you see?”

 

Her cheeks flush with slight embarrassment at being caught checking him out. “Shut up,” she mutters, since there’s no point in denying it.

 

“If it makes you feel better, I think you look gorgeous too,” he says, looping his arm through hers and nudging her before leading them towards the front door. “I like you in red.”

 

Her dress is a personal favourite, tight in all the right places, flowy at the bottom and an open back that never fails to make her feel sexy and powerful. She’s forgone her glasses tonight, and let her hair fall in their natural curls around her shoulders. And yeah. Red is her colour.

 

“Thank you,” she replies, blushing again because even though she knows she looks good, hearing Oliver saying it out loud is... something different altogether. It’s one thing to read about how used to find her her cute and attractive in a letter he never meant to send to her, it’s another to see the evidence of it right there, reflected in the eager shine in his eyes.

 

Oliver nods to the bouncer as they approach him, then steps aside to let her walk in first, such a gentleman, before placing a hand at her back and following her in. His touch sends a shiver running through her. It doesn’t go unnoticed and Oliver snatches his hand away quickly.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologises, then takes a solid step away from her to emphasise his point.

 

“It’s okay,” she tells him, rolling her eyes and pulling him back to her side. “Just unexpected, that’s all. And you’re going to have to do better if you want to convince these guys we’re together.”

 

The dance floor is already crowded when they make their way inside, people co-mingling and dancing to the steady beat blasting from the speakers overhead. Tommy’s done a good job with the decorations; finding the just the right balance between funky and classy. Under different circumstances, she’d thinks she might actually enjoy being here.

 

“You ready for this?” Oliver asks, nodding towards where Tommy and Laurel are standing, talking to a few people across the room.

 

“As I’ll ever be,” she replies. Then, as Oliver laces their fingers and starts walking over, she quickly adds, “No kissing, okay?”

 

Oliver stops, turning around. He looks almost... disappointed. “I’m sorry?”

 

“No kissing,” she repeats resolutely, even as a part of her brain is telling her she’s being silly and of course she should kiss him because who _wouldn’t?_ Ugh, shutting down those kind of thoughts _right now_. She glances around, making sure no one’s paying them any attention. “You can hold my hand or whatever. Kissing is off the table.”

 

He looks like he’s about to argue with her but seems to think better of it and just sighs, shoulders slumping.

 

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “What about on your cheek? Oh, or like, here?”

 

He traces his thumb over her temple gently, heat emanating from his palm over her cheek. Felicity sucks in an unsteady breath, willing herself to keep it together and not lose it at the fact that they’re standing so close she can smell his aftershave and if she just inches up on her toes, she’ll be in the perfect position to brush her lips over -

 

“Fine!” she blurts out, stumbling backwards, catching herself before her imagination runs away from her. “That’s fine. It’s fine. Let’s go say hi to Tommy, okay?” She grabs his hand, ignores the perplexed look on his face and drags him towards his friends.

 

God. How is this her life right now?

 

Before this week, he’d been nothing but a blip in her radar; a curious part of her childhood that didn’t warrant anything more than the occasional ‘what-if’ and ‘why’ every couple of years or so. When she took the job at Queen Consolidated, she thought about him, sure, but he’d been away at college then and Oliver Queen had been but a fleeting memory.

 

And now here she is, hand entwined with his, heart bursting from a complex combination of feelings she can’t, and doesn’t want to, identify, about to go introduce herself to his best friend and ex-girlfriend as his current girlfriend.

 

Someone should turn this into a sitcom.

 

As they approach the group, Tommy catches sight of them and breaks away, grinning from ear to ear as he marches up to the two of them.

 

“Ollie!”

 

The two men hug briefly before Oliver’s hand is once more at her back, bare skin against bare skin. “This is Felicity. I told you about her.”

 

Tommy tilts his head as he scrutinises her, making her feel self-conscious. “Smoak.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, taking a step closer. “Felicity Smoak. I know you. We all went to school together. Wow, this is... _interesting._ ”

 

“Tommy -”

 

Tommy shrugs Oliver’s hand off his shoulder, silencing him. “No, seriously. You? And this guy?” He jabs a thumb back at Oliver as he squints his eyes at her like they’re sharing a secret. “Didn’t I read somewhere that you’re some kind of tech genius? Huh. Guess opposites do attract. I never would have called it, but it sure is good to see you again, Felicity!”

 

Adult Tommy isn’t much different from the Tommy she knew in school. He still smiles in the same easy manner, his eyes glinting with mischief. She didn’t know him well back then, but while Oliver had turned into an insufferable jerk after that one term, Tommy had always stayed in the periphery when it came to her and she’s never held anything against him. The smile she returns is a genuine one.

 

“Nice to see you again too, Tommy. I love what you’ve done with the place.” She waves her hand around her. “Quite the turnout.”

 

“Yeah, we’re not doing too badly. Listen, we’re all over there by the table if you want to join us.” He points to the table where Laurel and oh! _Sara_ \- Felicity waves at the blonde excitedly - are standing, looking curiously on at them. “I’ll go get us more drinks. What are you having?”

 

“Wine, please,” Felicity tells him. “Red, if you don’t mind.”  

 

“Soda,” Oliver follows.

 

“You sure?” Tommy asks, confused. “I can get you -”

 

Oliver interrupts Tommy with a shake of his head, turning to Felicity. “How’re you getting home tonight?”

 

“Um... well, I got a cab here, so-”

 

“I’ll drive you home, so yeah, soda for me. Thanks, bud.”

 

He doesn’t give Tommy time to question his choice, pulling Felicity towards the table. “Hope that’s okay,” he says quietly to her. “I know I didn’t ask, but if we’re pretending...”

 

Felicity waves him off. “It’s fine, Oliver. You don’t have to be so careful around me, I did agree to this, remember? I’m not gonna suddenly change my mind.”

 

Just for show, because the table full of people who know them is very not subtly staring at them, and because she’s already approved cheek kissing anyway, she presses a quick kiss against his jaw, staining his skin with the pink of her lipstick before rubbing it off gently with her fingers.   

 

“Oh,” Oliver sighs breathlessly, turning his face into her hand, scruff scratching against her palm, surprised. “That’s... nice.”

 

“Mm. I feel like you might need some nice, considering your ex-girlfriend, the sister you cheated on her with and your current girlfriend are about to hang out together. All three who, coincidentally, have received your _love letters_.”

 

Oliver gapes at her; he clearly hasn’t thought about the scenario that they’re about to find themselves in before she brought it up. The look on his face is priceless and it almost makes this night out worth it. “Okay, wait, Felic-”

 

“Nope. We’re doing this. No backing out now, Romeo. And just a heads up, things might get suuuuper awkward between me and the Lances. You’re not the only one with a history of Lance drama.” She winks at him before pasting a grin on her face and strides past his slack-jawed expression straight towards Laurel and Sara, ignoring the faint _‘You have Lance drama?’_ from behind her.

 

Oliver’s been away for five years, so she doesn’t blame him for his ignorance. In that time however, despite drifting apart from her other high school friends, Sara Lance had remained a curious, unexpected, yet persistent presence in Felicity’s life.

 

Sara called it fate, Felicity called it black sheep finding other black sheep to commiserate with. When Oliver had cheated on Laurel with Sara and then upped and _disappeared,_ the social elite of Starling City started taking sides. Team Laurel vs Team Sara. Which, in Felicity’s opinion, was been completely dumb and unnecessary but Starling is _Starling_ and of course everything had been blown entirely out of proportion.

 

At the time, Felicity had just returned from MIT to accept a job at Queen Consolidated and bumped into Sara at Jitters on her first day. She had been the first familiar face Felicity had seen since arriving and it led to them reconnecting. As a result, through no fault of her own, Felicity Smoak was labelled as solidly Team Sara in the great Lance Divide.

 

Felicity didn’t care, it’s not like she was bothered by the gossip that the upper echelons of Starling’s elite seem to thrive on, but it put her at odds with Laurel and for the past five years, despite the fragile truce that had been struck between the Lance sisters, Felicity’s own relationship with Laurel has remained strained, stressful and completely frosty.

 

She hates it, hates being around Laurel, because it makes her uncomfortable despite having done nothing wrong, and it makes her feel like she’s back in school again, the youngest kid in the class who didn’t quite belong anywhere.

 

Which is how she ends up being four glasses of wine deep into the night, giggling into Oliver’s side as Sara regales the group of the time they accidentally found themselves in a gay bar, coming home with more than few phone numbers and barely any recollection of what happened that night.

 

Tommy had long disappeared to mingle with the other guests, but the rest of them were content to stay at the table, catching up and, much to her chagrin, clueing Oliver in to how much his new fake girlfriend used to love a good party.  

 

“I don’t know how you can find that enjoyable,” Laurel rolls her eyes at her sister, muttering in what Felicity privately calls her _‘I’m so much better than all of you peasants’_ voice. “Getting so drunk you don’t remember anything.”

 

“Aw, sis,” Sara pats Laurel’s shoulder sympathetically. How Sara isn’t as drunk as Felicity is a miracle. They’ve matched drinks all night and the other blonde is still upright and not at all using anyone else to support her unsteady feet. “Lighten up. Besides, it’s not like Felicity has time for me anymore, does she? Miss All Work and No Play has left her partying days behind her.”

 

Felicity sticks her tongue out at Sara. “I’m sorry, but I do need to actually function at work now that I’m not just an I.T. grunt anymore. Those were good times, though. I’ll give you that.”

 

Sara sidles up to Felicity and kisses her cheek. “And the hangovers were never as bad with your Party Raver Hangover Supreme Cure. Pure _magic_.”

 

“Magic, huh?” Oliver rumbles in her ear, one hand sliding across her back as he tightens his hold on her. She lists into his embrace like the good girlfriend she’s pretending to be. Might as well reap the benefits of being Oliver Queen’s girlfriend while she can. He’s so sturdy and solid and she feels safe being drunk around him. Also helps that his voice is so smooth, like velvety chocolate... _mmm._

 

She thinks he might be teasing her when he laughs lightly, and then whispers in that unnecessarily charming voice of his, “I think you’re going to need to make some of that for yourself tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, please, she’ll be fine.” Sara declares, placing another shot of _something_ in front of her. It’s pink, and shiny and it looks like an absolutely _divine_ concoction. Her fingers reach out to it, only to find Oliver’s palm fly out to snatch the shot glass away.

 

“Hey!” She turns her chin up to him, annoyed, and - whoa - okay, that was not smart. She’s already at the _losing your balance_ stage of tipsy then, she realises as she grasps at Oliver’s outstretched to keep from falling backwards into him.

 

Wow, even his forearm is solid. Manly. Hm.

 

“That’s mine.” She doesn’t know if she’s referring to the drink or to _him,_ and from the way Oliver’s standing right behind her, not an inch between his front and her back, letting her grope his arm unashamedly, she thinks he doesn’t mind either way.

 

“Yours,” he echoes gruffly as he takes a step away, turns to her and moves to slide a steadying hand around her waist. Her heart stutters against her chest, mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze, the heat emanating from his palm, the way his fingers press just a little bit into her flesh.

 

Pretending. She has to remind herself that they're only pretending to be a couple. Oliver might be playing the part of a 'good boyfriend' really, really well, but that's all he's doing. Playing a part. The thought is a little sobering, and she reaches out (to no avail) to take her drink back, desperate for the burn of alcohol down her throat. 

 

“Geez, Ollie, let the girl have her shot. It really isn’t like you to stand between someone and their fun, is it? You used to be the _king_ of fun,” Laurel sneers at them, and the moment is broken. Felicity feels Oliver bristle next to her.

 

“Don’t be a dick, Laurel,” Sara admonishes, sending her sister a murderous look. Felicity cheers on the inside. Go Team Sara!

 

“I’m just saying that this isn’t Ollie’s normal M.O., that’s all.”

 

God, she’s been doing this all night; making little quips and snarky comments about Felicity and Oliver, condescending remarks about how Sara’s should _‘really settle down because it’s not like us Lances to be so aimless, sis’_ , and for some reason, this particular zinger cuts through her haze of slight inebriation, realising that Laurel’s being mean on purpose.

 

To Oliver. Who is her _boyfriend_ so as his pretend girlfriend, she really should -

 

“I don’t think she’s being mean on purpose, but thanks for being offended on my behalf,” Oliver chuckles with good nature. Damn, she’s spoken out loud. Again.

 

She cuts a glance to Laurel and fortunately the sisters are busy arguing with each other so they’re paying Felicity no mind. Oliver pushes the shot he's been holding hostage back in front of her. “Look, if you’re going to drink this, will you at least have some water after?”

 

She narrows her eyes at him, mostly because her vision is getting a little blurry and squinting makes her see better. He’s being so nice and polite and courteous tonight, it’s unnerving.

 

Not that she hadn’t expected it - reading his letter had clued her in on how her really feels about her ( _I’m so sorry I treated you the way I did, I really did admire you, and thought you were the nicest girl I’d ever met, but I was stupid and dumb and I wish I can take it all back_ ), but he’s being nice _in public_ and that’s... something.

 

When she doesn’t immediately respond to his question, Oliver arches his eyebrows like he’s testing her.

 

And drunk or not, Felicity Smoak likes passing tests.

 

“Yea, I promise,” she says, nodding. “You get me water, I’ll drink it.”

 

“‘Kay,” Oliver smiles, sliding his hand from her waist up to her shoulder, then down, finally squeezing her hand once. “Take the shot, I’ll be right back.”  He waves his hand to get Sara’s attention, who hurries to take over supporting-Felicity-so-she-doesn’t-fall-over duties, before heading back to the bar for her water.

 

“Never thought this would ever happen, y’know?” Sara whispers into Felicity’s ear, giggling for no apparent reason. “You and Oliver, I mean.” She holds up her own shot glass filled with the pink mix, tilting her head expectantly. “But here’s to you!”  

 

“Here’s to me!” Felicity crows, tipping her head back, downing the shot quickly before she breaks and blabs about how everything between them being fake, and that they’re only doing this for Tommy and Laurel’s benefit. She feels bad lying to one of her closest friends, but she's _drunk_ and Oliver's being amazing and so great, and she's having far too much of a good time that she convinces herself that it's okay. She's not going to be lying forever. 

 

Laurel’s scowling at them from across the table and she wants to go over and give her a piece of her mind, but just as she’s mentally calculating the chances of her tripping over herself in front of Laurel, Oliver returns with a huge glass of water and Laurel’s scowl morphs something more neutral.

 

“Drink up,” Oliver says as he hands her the glass. “You promised.”

 

The few mouthfuls of water she manages to gulp down does nothing for her state of sobriety, unfortunately, so when the DJ starts playing a mash-up of throwback 90s dance beats and Sara screams in her ear that _this is our song!_ , she throws an apologetic shrug back at Oliver and lets Sara drag her to the packed dance floor.

 

The beat of the music moves through her like silk and she lets the combination of alcohol and flashy lights and nostalgia take over. She forgets about Laurel and her stupid attitude, and Oliver and their fake relationship and for the first time in a really long time, she just... enjoys herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hump day! All your comments and kudos have thus far been a spark of joy and light in an otherwise dreary week. Thank you, thank you, and thank you! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity discovers Oliver has layers.

Disgusting.

 

She feels disgusting. Her head is throbbing, the sun peeking through the gap in her curtains is blinding and what in God’s name, is that _noise?_

 

The steady _thump thump thump_ that’s floating through her bedroom door sounds like it’s mocking her, reverberating in time with the pounding in the back of her skull. Her face feels gross with hours old makeup, and her dress is bunched up at her waist in a very undignified -

 

_Wait._

 

Wait.

 

How the hell did she end up in bed? How did she get _home?_

 

Throwing her blankets off the bed, she stumbles into her bathroom and starts to make herself feel semi-human again. Whoever’s making that racket outside her door hasn’t come in and killed her yet, so she assumes she has time to hop in the shower without being ambushed by a serial killer.

 

She emerges from her bathroom fifteen minutes later, clean-faced, mouth tasting minty fresh and looking a little more put together than she actually feels.

 

She meanders out to her living room, holding on to the walls for support and thanks whoever’s watching out for her that Verdant’s opening had been on a Saturday night. It means she has nowhere to be and no one to see her try and nurse this killer hangover this morning. Afternoon? She’s not sure yet.

 

But it doesn’t matter, because it’s a Sunday and she’s going to veg out on her couch for the rest of the day. She’s forgotten about the alleged serial killer that could be wandering around her place, that is until she sees a large unfamiliar figure in her kitchen and nearly has a heart attack.

 

 _“Oliver?!”_ she shrieks, nearly tripping over the heels that she’d worn last night, haphazardly discarded in the middle of the living room floor.

 

She rights herself with as much dignity as she can, but then her knee smashes into the small coffee table and she whimpers at the contact, doubling over with embarrassment.

 

When she looks up again after having caught her breath, she finds Oliver watching her with amusement dancing in his eyes, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be standing at her kitchen, wearing - oh, _hm._ A nice, fitted white shirt and a pair of Bermudas.

 

“Hey,” he greets nonchalantly, waving a spatula at her as if he hasn’t just scared her senseless in her own damn home.

 

“What you doing here?!” Felicity snaps, which she regrets instantly when her ears ring from the volume and a sharp, stabbing pain cuts through her head. Her hand is still on her chest, absorbing the rapid beating of her heart against her breast bone from the shock of seeing him there.

 

“Well, um, I drove us here from Verdant,” he says, turning her stove off - oh, it still works, good to know - and wipes his hand on a hand towel that’s magically appeared on her counter top. “Sent you to bed, slept for a bit and then made us brunch.”

 

“Sent me to bed... and - oh my God, you stayed the night? _Here?”_ Felicity asks incredulously. She’s not proud of the way she’s screeching at him, but she’s hungover and confused and she should be allowed to be annoyed by the man lurking in her kitchen.

 

She shuffles over to him, drawn to the delicious smell of whatever he’s prepared, torn between being irritated for assuming he could just run rampant in her home and the gnawing hunger in her stomach.

 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Oliver mumbles, mostly to himself. “You were pretty out of it when we got back here last night.”

 

Her resolve melts at his words. She’s not a monster after all; she appreciates the gesture and the good intentions behind it. She stops behind her counter, hands on the island to steady herself. Experience has taught her that being in the vicinity of a hot stove will bode well for no one, least of all when she’s not functioning at a hundred percent.

 

“Not that I’m condoning you taking over my kitchen in any way at all, or you know, staying over without asking, but what did you make and why does it smell so good?” She arches up on the tip of her toes to see what he's up to.

 

Oliver lets out a quiet chuckle and starts pulling out plates and setting them on the counter for them like he _belongs_ in her kitchen, something she can’t quite get her head around yet, so she just ignores all of it.

 

“Cinnamon rolls are still in the oven, but I’ve made some bacon and the omelettes are ready. Wasn’t sure if you wanted sweet or savoury so I thought why not both? Coffee’s in the pot, if you want some.” He points to the one thing she knows for sure is working in her kitchen and she nods enthusiastically.

 

He continues talking as he pours her a cup. “You didn’t have anything in your fridge except ice-cream and a single orange that was a little mouldy.” He pauses to send her a judgmental look that she pointedly ignores. So what if she doesn’t cook? She’s treasures her life, after all. “Anyway, I went out and did some groceries, got a change of clothes and um, here we are.”

 

Felicity cranes her neck, leaning over the counter as she takes in the truly ridiculous spread of food before her. It’s downright insane to think that Oliver Queen can cook, but the proof is right there before her, and the incessant thumping she’d heard this morning must have been him rolling out the dough for the rolls currently browning in the oven she has never used.

 

It all looks so amazing and she licks her lips in anticipation, forgetting for a moment that she’s still annoyed with him. Because _handmade cinnamon rolls._

 

What the actual fuck?

 

“I did ask, by the way, about staying,” Oliver says, dragging one of her bar stools over and then gently guiding her to sit in it. She lets herself be manipulated into the seat, preoccupied with calculating how much bacon she should have if she still wants to make space for the cinnamon rolls.

 

“To which, you said, and I quote _‘sure you can sleep on my couch, but you’re so big you might not fit’_ and then you went off on a tangent about sizes and how they don’t matter before going into your room. So. You did invite me to stay.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

 

But now that she thinks about it, that does sound a lot like her, accidental innuendo and all. Bits and pieces of her night are slowly coming back to her and she vaguely remembers Oliver bundling her into his fancy car after what seemed like hours dancing with Sara....

 

 _Sara._ Hngh. Of course. Nothing good ever comes from a night out with Sara.

 

“I, personally, think you had a good time last night,” Oliver counters, and then off her confused look, he grins and continues, “Out loud, again.”

 

Sighing, she resigns herself to her fate. The damage has already been done, he’s seen her in her most embarrassing state and she figures it’s not something he’s about to forget any time soon. Best to just suck it up, own it, and move on.

 

“It’s been a while since I had time to just go out,” she admits, spearing a piece of bacon and chewing on it thoughtfully. Oliver drags another chair to her side so he’s sitting next to her and starts digging in too. “But fine, I guess it wasn’t too bad of a night out, all things considered. God, this is so good, Oliver...”

 

“You’re very welcome.” Oliver practically preens at her compliment, reminding her of an adorable puppy seeking her approval. If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it proudly. And if he had tail _feathers,_ he’d be flaring it like a cocky peacock.

 

She decides that she must still be drunk if she’s thinking about Oliver as a puppy-peacock, but she’s too busy eating the best post-night out hangover food she’s ever had in her entire life that she doesn’t care.

 

“We didn’t see Ray last night, by the way,” Oliver says after a few minutes of companionable silence. “Palmer,” he clarifies.

 

Her fork stills in mid-air, bacon falling back onto her plate, lips automatically twisting into a scowl at the mention Ray’s name. Way to ruin the mood, much.

 

“Uh, okay?”

 

“So, our agreement was to convince Ray you’re not single, right?”

 

Ah. “And we didn’t see Ray last night,” she repeats slowly, catching on to his train of thought. “So I still have to pretend to be your girlfriend.”

 

“Being my girlfriend last night wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

There it is again, the slight hint of uncharacteristic insecurity that really doesn't gel with anything she knows about him. Did his five years at college really change him that much? Granted, she’d undergone her own transformation at M.I.T, but never in this lifetime did she think the boy who went through his entire formative years with insufferable confidence was capable of the same thing.

 

_Hm._

 

“What are you staring at?”

 

His face appears in front of hers and she realises she’s just zoned out on him. Shaking her head, she tries to clear the foggy remnants of her alcohol induced stupor.

 

“Nothing,” she answers quickly. “Enjoying breakfast. That’s all.”

 

“O-kay.”

 

He doesn’t believe her, but he settles back in his own chair and resumes eating. It’s strangely domestic, what she and Oliver are doing, and stranger still is how it doesn’t feel wrong or out of place. Like he’s meant to be there, making her breakfast, making friendly conversation like this is all no big deal.

 

And _clearly_ she’s still really drunk if she’s thinking of _Oliver_ and _domestic_ in the same sentence. Ugh. What is happening to her?

 

“We’re gonna need rules,” she says before she can stop herself. She takes a sip of coffee - how does he manage to make even her coffee taste better than usual? Seriously. “If we’re doing this. The pretending, I mean.”

 

“Rules?” Oliver pushes his plate away, turns to her and folds his arms on the counter. “I’m not great with rules.”

 

The cocky smile is infuriating and his attitude is a good reminder that despite having mellowed out over the years (she thinks anyway), some trace of the Oliver she knew might still be lingering around. Not that it's a bad thing, she decides. He's kinda... cute. 

 

She ignores his comment about the rules as she walks away from the kitchen. There's no way in hell she's doing this without some sort of safety net. They’re going to need written rules, for sure. Typed out like a contract, signed, sealed - she’s not opposed to a blood pact at this point, to be quite honest. Retrieving her tablet, she slumps down into her couch and pulls up a blank document.

 

Oliver follows her into her living room, and mostly to himself, he mutters, “You’re serious about these rules. Ugh. this is like you tutoring me all over again.”

 

Felicity smirks, tapping a finger against the screen. “Of course I’m serious. I like rules. So number one.”

 

“One,” he repeats, knowing he’s lost the battle. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, motioning her to proceed.

 

“One. You will always, no questions asked, hundred percent be responsible for all the cooking.”

* * *

 

A week ago, if anyone had told Oliver he’d be spending a good portion of his Sunday with Felicity Smoak, he would have asked them if they were high. Yet here he is, feet stretched out in front of him, patiently waiting for Felicity to finish typing the latest in her quite unnecessary (in his opinion) list of rules.

 

He’d migrated to sit by her side, careful to maintain a respectable distance between them on her couch, at around rule 3, (no more sleepovers) and they’re now at what he hopes is the last of them.

 

“How long should we keep this up?” Felicity murmurs as she taps away on her tablet. She tilts her head at him, lips pressed together thoughtfully. “Two weeks?”

 

“Uh, what?” Oliver protests. “ _No._ We have to keep this up at least until the wedding.” Because there’s no way in hell he’s showing up to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding without a date, no matter how okay he is about the wedding itself.

 

Felicity frowns. “Tommy and Laurel’s? Isn’t that like... two months away?”

 

“Come on, what’s two months in the grand scheme of things? You get to keep Ray and the nasty tabloids off your back because you’re in a ‘serious relationship’ -”

 

“With my pseudo-boss...” she mutters under her breath, barely audible.

 

“- and I have date to the wedding! Win-win!” he finishes.

 

The truth, if he’s being honest with himself, is that his insistence to keep this fake relationship going goes further than the embarrassment of turning up alone at the wedding. Felicity Smoak just plain and simple, intrigues him.

 

He finds himself wanting to know her better, a part of him curious about how the young, nerdy Felicity he knew in school turned into this formidable, confident, breathtaking woman before him. Not that she’s not nerdy now - the collection of Star Wars paraphernalia and techy gadgets strewn about her place is proof of that - but he sees the appeal of this geek chic thing more now than he was a dumb teenager.

 

It sounds silly when he thinks about it, but something about her radiates light and happiness, even if the thunderous expression of her face right now is proving otherwise.

 

“What if I meet someone I really like in the meantime, but oops, _sorry,_ we’re dating?” He’s not brave (or stupid) enough to ask her when she’s going to find time to find someone else to date when she’s always busy with work so he says nothing. Oliver notes with interest that she hasn’t actually turned down being his date to the wedding either, so that’s sort of a point in his favour.

 

“Two months is a long time, Oliver. We’ll have to go on pretend dates and be seen in public, and -”

 

“We’ll put it in the rules then.” Oliver grabs the tablet from her and takes over, scanning the list before starting to type on a new line.

 

“One date night a week, for two months, to end after Tommy’s wedding. They’ll have to be in public, for everyone to see,” he says as he types, casting her a knowing glance. “But if either one of us uh, meets someone else, then we call this charade off any time before then.”

 

He can see her brilliant mind mulling over his proposition, eyes shifting as she stares at him, contemplating. Probably weighing up the pros and cons, making a second list in her head which he’s sure will have more cons than pros from the way she’s suddenly narrowed her eyes at him.

 

But then the refusal that he expects doesn’t arrive, and instead she sighs, rolls her eyes and pulls the tablet from his fingers.

 

“You’re typing too slowly,” Felicity complains; her version of acceptance, he supposes, and he counts that as a victory. “Okay, fine. I think we’re done.”

 

She tilts the screen towards him, letting him read through the list they’ve come up with:

 

  1. Oliver will be in charge of every meal that requires cooking.
  2. We will keep the authenticity of this relationship a secret from everyone.
  3. No sleepovers.
  4. We will have one date night a week to be held in public.
  5. This fake relationship ends once Tommy and Laurel get married, or until either party meets someone they want to date.



 

“Looks good,” he tells her, still half-convinced about this whole rules thing. Felicity scrawls her signature with her finger at the bottom of the page and then hands the tablet over to him.

 

“You have to sign it too,” she insists. “Like a contract.”

 

“Fine, fine,” he murmurs, signing his name next to hers before giving it back to her. “Happy?”

 

“Happy isn’t what I’d use for what I’m feeling right now,” she says a little begrudgingly. “But _my boyfriend_ ,” she she wiggles her eyebrows at him, “made me cinnamon rolls so I’m going to go have them instead of wasting time thinking about this whole dumb thing.”

 

She leaves him on the couch, making a beeline for the kitchen. He stares at her retreating back, a curious warmth unfurling in his chest, chuckling at her loud curses when she realises she doesn’t know how to work her oven.

 

“Oliver! Come help me get them out!” she yells impatiently, to which he replies with a resounding, “Coming, dear!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Love you long time :) 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart to hearts are fun!

To say that Felicity’s surprised by the fancy black limousine waiting outside her apartment on Monday morning is an understatement. She’s mid-sip of her morning coffee, scrolling through her list of emails on her phone when the sharp blare of the car’s horn makes her look up in shock.

 

“What the -”

 

“Hey, it’s me!”

 

She has to squint to make out the face peering out at her from the window that’s rolling down, and when she realises who it is, she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone.

 

“Oliver. Of course.”

 

His driver, John Diggle, she recalls, climbs out of the front seat and walks over to her, taking her handbag with a gentle smile on his face. “Mr. Queen insisted we pick you up, sorry for the lack of notice, Miss.”

 

“Please call me Felicity. And that’s okay,” she chuckles. “We’re going the same way after all.”

 

Diggle nods, pulling open the door to the back seat dutifully. Oliver smiles at her from inside, sliding over to make room.

 

“Mornin’ babe,” he greets, grinning. Right. He’s her boyfriend and they’re using pet names. Apparently. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight as he pats the space next to him. “Come sit.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she answers. She buckles in, crosses her legs and fixes Oliver with a stern glare. “When did we agree to this?”

 

“When you decided I was good enough to be your boyfriend,” he replies easily. “Come on, tell me you’re not glad you don’t have to walk into work and face the music alone today.”

 

He has a point. It’s her first day back at work after their first official outing as a couple. Probably a good idea to face it together; display a united front and all that. She wrinkles her nose at him. “Okay, fine, you win this time.”  

 

“Plus, I brought breakfast! You can’t be mad at me if I bring you breakfast.” Oliver hands her a paper bag, warm to the touch, smelling suspiciously like freshly baked muffins. She peels open the bag and there are indeed two very delicious looking muffins inside. Her stomach gurgles with anticipation.

 

“Should I expect breakfast every morning from now on?” Felicity bites into her muffin, letting her tongue slide over her lips to catch some stray crumbs. Oliver’s appears fixated by the movement and it leaves her feeling smug and a little powerful. It hadn’t been her intention, but it’s nice to know he’s paying attention.

 

She uncrosses her legs slowly, allowing the skirt of her dress to ride up her thighs, just to watch his reaction. Testing him.

 

Predictably, Oliver coughs and clears his throat, head shooting up when he realises he’s staring unabashedly at her bare skin of her thighs. “Uh, Felic-”

 

“So, is he like, bribing you with food or something?”

 

Felicity turns to the front of the car, surprised by the unfamiliar feminine voice. A tiny brunette stares back at her from the front passenger seat, twisted around with an amused smile on her face. “I mean, how did my brother manage to convince you to go out with him?”

 

Oliver shifts uneasily in his seat. “Thea, be nice, please.” Oliver turns to her, sheepish. “You remember Thea? My sister. We’re dropping her off at school first.”

 

“No, seriously. What’s in it for you? You’re a super genius, poised for world domination and you’re dating Oliver?”

 

Felicity shrugs. “Um... the heart wants what the heart wants?”

 

Thea snorts before turning back to the front, muttering a quiet, “Clearly. Until it doesn’t.”

 

Oliver kicks the back of Thea’s seat. “Hey, we’re pretty serious about each other.”

 

 _Pretending_ to be serious, the voice in her head corrects, but she finds herself wanting to defend their fake relationship anyway. It doesn’t sit well with her that his sister still thinks he’s still the same devil-may-care kid he used to be. Can’t Thea see that he’s changed? Even if Felicity _hadn’t_ received his letter, the tremendous effort he’s putting into the company in preparation to take over as CEO speaks for itself and it’s so unbelievably clear that he’s a different person than he was before.

 

“I think we’ve got a good thing going too,” she agrees with Oliver, who sends a grateful smile in return.

 

Thea huffs, but doesn’t look back at her. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

 

Oliver takes her hand in his in a surprising move, warmth radiating from his palm against hers. She glances down at their hands, then back up at him.

 

“Don’t mind her,” he whispers. “She’s only upset because she found out about us from Twitter.”

 

Felicity’s not convinced that’s the case, but she lets it go begrudgingly. Thea’s Oliver’s sister, so if he thinks its not a big deal, she won’t argue.

 

She does however, allow him to hold her hand for the rest of the trip, and it’s definitely because Thea keeps sneaking glances back at them and _not_ because she likes the way his warm skin feels against hers.

* * *

 

“Budget projections are more of a guideline anyway!”

 

“A guideline that should be adhered to, if we want the department to stay in the black this quarter!”

 

“Sometimes we need to take risks, and this risk will pay off, I promise. You have to spend money to earn money!”

 

The chaos of voices around is giving Oliver a headache, and what makes it worse, is that he has no idea what any of these guys are arguing about. The inter-department meeting has already gone half an hour longer than scheduled; his stomach is growling and apart from the initial breakdown of minutes at the start of the meeting, Oliver has no clue what any of this is actually about.

 

“I think everyone should just take a minute and look at this from a different perspective,” Walter’s voice chimes in, steady and calm as always. Next to him, his step-father plays around with his laptop and pulls up yet another slide of bar graphs and arrows and proceeds to talk over the other men in the room.

 

Oliver slides even further down in his seat, feeling all sorts of inadequate because how the fuck is he supposed to take over as CEO when none of this makes any sense whatsoever? On a whim, he cuts a glance down the long table, searching for the familiar blonde of Felicity’s hair.

 

Unlike him, she’s paying rapt attention to the conversation in the room, head bobbing along to the train of arguments flying back and forth with laser like focus as she types away on her tablet. Her boss - the guy currently asking for more money to do... whatever it is he wants to do, is practically frothing at the mouth at not getting his way, but from the slight frown on Felicity’s face, she doesn’t agree with anything he’s saying.

 

No one’s paying him any mind so Oliver slides his phone out and sends her a text.

 

_‘I don’t know much of what’s going on but your boss sounds like an idiot.’_

 

_‘Yeah, tell me about it. He hasn’t looked at any of the proposed changes to the program our team’s sent him yet either. All of this is a bunch of nonsense.’_

 

Her reply is almost instantaneous, which leaves him dumbfounded because he’s been watching her and she hasn't even touched her phone. She hasn’t moved an inch, except for her fingers that are blurring over the keyboard of her tablet.

 

_‘How are you replying me? What is this magic?’_

 

A smile appears on her face, and he knows she’s read his text, even if she still hasn’t looked his way once.

 

_‘Phone’s connected to my tablet. No magic, but I sure wish I can apparate the hell out of this meeting right now though.’_

 

Oh! He understands that particular pop culture reference! Grinning, he sits up straighter, looks around to make sure everyone’s still busy arguing with each other, and resumes typing.

 

_‘Show me your wand and I’ll show you mine.’_

 

 _That_ gets the reaction he’s expecting, and Felicity’s eyes finally meet his, wide and amused, a touch scandalised. She cocks an eyebrow at him just as his phone vibrates with an incoming message.

 

_One, I’ve seen your wand because the internet never forgets. Two, want to see real magic?_

 

He stares at his phone, confused, until all the lights blink out, the projector they’ve been using turns itself off and everything in the room is blanketed in darkness and stunned silence.

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

Felicity smirks at him from across the table, then slowly turns to the front of the room, a picture of pure innocence. That’s when Oliver stands up, noisily scraping his chair backwards and clapping his hands once.

 

“I think that’s a nice place to end this, don’t you? I’m sure we can all appreciate that everyone brought very valid points to this... meeting today, and we’ll reconvene at a later time? I’ll uh, get maintenance in to see what’s wrong with the lights.”

 

Walter narrows his eyes at him, but stays silent. A murmur of agreement bubbles up from the other people in the room as everyone starts packing up. Great. Awesome. See? He’s taking charge like a leader should and putting an end to this miserable meeting.

 

Felicity hurries out the door with everyone else and by the time he manages to catch up to her, she’s engrossed in her phone, paying him no attention as they step into the elevator together.

 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he whispers into her ear once the doors slide shut.

 

“Jesus, Oliver!” Felicity startles, nearly dropping her phone. She elbows him before folding her arms over her chest. “Don’t do that. And why are you standing so close to me, we have the whole elevator to ourselves.”

 

“You have like, zero spatial awareness, it’s a little concerning.” Oliver steps aside, giving her room. “But thank you for ending that meeting with your magic show, God, I was dying in there.”

 

“Mm. I could tell. Did you understand anything they were saying?”

 

“Nah. But I’m sure you’ll share your notes with me, won’t you? Just like old times.”

 

The withering look she sends his way as she mutters, “Stealing my chem notes from me wasn't  _sharing_ , _”_ doesn’t deter him and he tails her out the elevator when they get to her floor. They turn a few heads as they start walking, and he doesn’t miss the whispers that follow them until they get to her office.

 

“How’s your first day as my girlfriend been, anyway?” he asks, genuinely curious.

 

His had been fairly unexciting, save for a few kind comments on pictures of him and Felicity at Verdant. He’s a little disappointed, if he’s being honest. Just a tiny bit. Back in the day, there would have been paparazzi camping outside the office waiting to snag a photo or two of him but the only person even remotely interested in his new relationship today had been Thea.

 

“Fine.”

 

He pulls himself out of his mini self-indulgent pity party at Felicity’s answer. If he’s learned anything from his vast history with women, ‘Fine’, said in that exact same tone she’s just said it in, usually means the exact _opposite_ of fine. His eyebrows knit together as he takes a seat in her visitor’s chair.

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure.” She slams her tablet onto her desk and sinks into her seat with heavily. “There’s nothing quite like being talked about behind my back all morning and hearing conversations suddenly end whenever I walk into a room, it’s all so perfectly _fine.”_

 

Now he feels bad wallowing about not getting any attention when Felicity’s clearly not having the same experience he is. It’s not like he has any control over the gossip mill in the office, but it’s still unfair that she’s getting the brunt of it instead of him.

 

She doesn’t deserve it.

 

He takes in the way she’s chewing on her pen, frowning at whatever’s on her computer screen, ignoring his presence in her office. She’s not kicking him out, though, so he assumes it’s probably okay for him to stay.

 

“Do you want me to do anything about it?” he ventures. It's what a good CEO would do. What a good _friend_ would do.

 

Her fingers pause over her keyboard momentarily and she sighs, long and deep. She finally lifts her head to look at him over the top of her computer screen. “Thank you," she smiles grimly. "But no. There’s nothing you can do. It’s just talk and eventually it’ll pass. Besides, I'm not going to lie, it could be worse.”

 

“Worse?” Oliver repeats, dumbfounded.

 

What could be worse than her own colleagues, and possibly her underlings, talking about her behind her back? A chilling thought occurs to him then. Has she _had_ worse? A ripple of indignant righteousness spreads through him at the possibility that she’s had to endure such stupid, asinine, undeserved behaviour from the people she works with while he's had to suffer through no such thing.

 

Maybe he can get her assistant to give him the names of the culprits and he’ll root out those who have ever had anything bad to say about Felicity. That’ll show them.  

 

“Yeah, they could be accusing me of sleeping with you to get to the top. That would be worse. But y’know, I’m already at the top.” She winks at him - or tries to, at least. The entire side of her face scrunches up and she ends up half-closing both eyes. Adorable. _Wow._

 

“Figuratively, of course,” she continues. ‘Cause I’m not, like, _top_ , top.” She makes a line with her hand, waving it over her head. “And I like being on top - no, don’t say anything, I heard myself. But what I’m saying is that I’m already VP of Applied Sciences. So if anything, they should be talking about how _you’re_ trying to use _me_ to get into the good books with the company’s board of directors.”

 

She takes a breath, winces apologetically before muttering, “Sorry, rambling. You’re gonna have to get used to that.”

 

“I like your rambling," he admits with a smile. "But you’re not wrong... they probably do think that. About me using you,” Oliver laughs as he arches his neck, rolling it from shoulder to shoulder. “They don’t exactly hide the fact that they don’t like me, do they? They'd kick me out in a heartbeat if I gave them a legitimate reason to.”

 

The way in which the confession slips out so easily surprises him. He hasn't talked about his reservations with anyone else, and here he is spilling his fears about his position in the company to a woman he's only just begun reconnecting with. It's probably because she doesn't look at him like they do, constantly judging him for his past mistakes. It's also probably because he just likes talking to her.  

 

“They might like you more if you paid attention in meetings instead of texting your fake girlfriend. Just putting it out there," Felicity remarks, a teasing glint in her eye. Then she wrinkles her nose and chews on her bottom lip before continuing. “Though today’s in particular was a mess, I’ll admit that much. So thank you for the brief distraction and for cutting the meeting short."

 

“It's the least I could do. And if you want, I can still show you my wand,” Oliver jokes, leaning forward, arching his brow suggestively. “The pictures on the internet were probably really old.”

 

Felicity looks away from her monitor briefly, cranes her neck and drops her eyes to his crotch, then slowly brings it upwards, blazing a trail of heat in its path. It makes him think about those same eyes raking over him, while they’re both naked, possibly in this same office and he shifts in his seat, definitely having underestimated how much his body can be affected by her mere gaze.

 

 _Damn_ it.

 

“I think I’m good,” Felicity murmurs, the corner of her lips lifting in a small smirk like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him. “For now.”

 

Okay, okay. Play with fire and you’ll get burned, Queen. Or _Smoaked_ , in this case as it turns out. He shifts uneasily in his seat. He reminds himself that they’re only pretending to be a couple and that all the flirting between them isn’t real - as much as it feels real to him right now.

 

She’s still as unattainable as she’d been back in school, all smart and gorgeous and adorable, and it’s only in his best interest to keep his burgeoning attraction to her in check.

 

Clearing his throat and forcing the wayward thoughts out of his head, Oliver gets up from the chair and straightens his suit, preparing to leave her office. “I’m gonna let you do some work,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as uncertain as he feels.

 

Felicity nods, already back to muttering under her breath at whatever she’s doing on her computer.

 

He has his hand over her door handle when Felicity calls out his name, making him turn back to her.

 

“Don’t worry about the other guys not liking you,” she tells him with a reassuring smile. The pink of her lips curl up in a smile. She pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’re doing good work here, and even if they don’t want to acknowledge it, they know it. Walter wouldn't have taken you in if he didn't believe you can do this.”

 

The weight in his chest he didn’t realise he’d been carrying lifts a little, and it helps balance out the remnants of inadequacy that's still lingering from the meeting earlier. He hadn't been seeking any sort of validation when he shared his concerns with her, but having her tick of approval feels good. Almost like he suddenly has someone in his corner and it’s a nice, fuzzy feeling that spreads all the way to his fingertips.

 

“Thank you, Felicity. That... that means a lot.”

 

Felicity flushes, a faint blush creeping up the pale skin of her cheeks, not expecting his gratitude. “I’m sure you’ll win them over eventually,” she remarks, grinning. “You did it with me, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the lack of comment replies but please know that despite my relative silence, I do love, cherish and appreciate them all. Receiving feedback and hearing from you guys can really make one's day.
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burgers and wine and emotionally charged conversations. Amazing.

Carpooling with Oliver becomes the norm over the next week. He’s out front bright and early in the morning with breakfast, and he drops her home after work if their schedules happen to coincide. Although it’s not really carpooling if Oliver’s doing all the picking up and dropping off, is it? Felicity purses her lips as the thought flies through her mind. It’s really more of a free ride to and from work, in which she’s doing all the riding.

 

The unintentional innuendo makes her blush. Hm.

 

Let’s _not_ go there, Felicity. Those kinds of thoughts are way off limits.

 

In any case, that’s why she’s sitting in a corner booth at Big Belly Burger on Friday night, waiting for Oliver and Diggle to arrive because buying them dinner is the least she can do in exchange for shuttling her to and from work every day.

 

Finding out that they both had a mutual love for Big Belly had been a pleasant surprise, not only because she didn’t think anyone with _Queen_ as their last name would ever step foot in a Big Belly, but also because Oliver didn’t judge her for liking it. In fact, he’d been positively vibrating with delight when she offered to take them out for dinner.

 

“I haven’t been here since I came back.” Oliver’s voice startles her out of her thoughts as he appears in front of her.

 

He kisses her cheek in greeting, for appearances of course, but her traitorous heart still picks up speed at the contact. Oliver slides into the booth next to her, with Diggle grabbing menus as he settles in opposite them.

 

“See? Completely clueless about her surroundings, told you,” he tells Diggle with an infuriating smirk on his face.

 

“I’m not _clueless_ ,” she protests, digging her shoulder into his for emphasis. “I think about a lot of things at once, and it’s always chaotic up in here, buzzing like a bee," she waves her hands over her head. "So - don’t laugh, Digg. That’s mean. Can you hurry up and choose what you want, I’m starving.”

 

They place their orders quickly after that, and then as they wait for their food to arrive, Oliver gets his phone out to show her something on it.

 

“We have uh, a couple’s name, by the way.”

 

Felicity takes his phone, scanning the blurb he’s pulled up from some website. She makes a face. “Olicity? Wow.”

 

“It’s cute,” Diggle offers. “In my personal opinion, anyway. Rolls right off the tongue.”

 

Oliver huffs, like he’s heard his opinion before - and he probably has - but keeps his eyes on her. “Are you okay with this?”

 

She looks at Oliver, then Diggle, carefully. Diggle thinks they’re a real couple, so she can’t really say anything that might blow their cover.

 

“Um, yeah. I guess? Digg’s right, it’s kinda cute.”

 

Oliver seems pleased about that for some reason. “Well, okay then. Good.” 

 

“What were you gonna do if I wasn’t okay with it? Put out a ban on the nickname?” she snorts, patting him gently on his thigh. “I don’t think you understand the power of the internet, hon.”

 

It just slips out, _hon,_ like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But it’s not. Not for her anyway. She doesn’t know how or why she says it, blaming it on her hunger and how comfortable she feels with Oliver pressed up right next to her, cocooning her in the heat he’s radiating through his clothes. 

 

Oliver likes to drop the occasional ‘babe’ in conversation because he knows it irritates her, but she’s stayed well clear of cutesy nicknames for him, so Oliver understandably stills next to her, his hand trapping hers under his over his thigh. 

 

“You _are_ the tech genius in the relationship,” he lobbies back, recovering easily, like he hasn’t at all been taken aback by her slip of tongue. As if the term of endearment granted him permission to do so, he curls his hand over hers so their fingers are interlaced under the table, still resting on his thigh. “Maybe spending more time with you could help me understand all this internet stuff better?”

  

And that’s another thing that’s constantly surprising her. At first she thought the over the top flirting and the cheesy one-liners were on purpose, but she’s slowly realising that it’s just him. Oliver’s default setting - which, of course, is why he has the reputation he does.

 

It probably says more about her that she finds this particular trait of his endearing, instead of annoying like she thinks she should, but is she going to dwell on that? Nope. _Nope._ Just like how she’s absolutely not going to think about how blue his eyes are under the low lights in the diner, or how his hand is still clasped around hers, under the table and hidden from view.

 

“Quit that.”

 

Felicity blinks twice, turning to face Diggle. “Huh?”

 

“Not enough I gotta hear about you all day from this guy,” Diggle scowls at Oliver, tipping his chin Oliver’s way. “You’re telling me I gotta sit through dinner with you two making heart-eyes at each other too?”

 

“Hey -”

 

The protest dies on her lips as Oliver brings their still very joined hands onto the table. “Deal with it, Digg. She’s my girlfriend and I haven't seen her since this morning.”

 

“You’re so whipped, man.”

 

“I know you and Lyla are in your old married couple stage already, but again, she’s my girlfriend, I’m _supposed_ to be whipped. Do you need a refresher course in dating? I can give you some pointers.”

 

Her breath gets caught in her throat and she wants to curl into herself because _‘girlfriend’_ (he said it twice! In less than a minute!) is still such an utterly foreign concept, and she’s grateful that Oliver and Diggle are too preoccupied arguing with each other to pay any attention to her. It’s only been a week, and she’s already finding it so hard to maintain the lines they’d drawn for themselves.

 

“I don’t need tips from you on how to pick up women, Oliver.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m with Felicity aren’t I? I think I did pretty well for myself.”

 

It’s times like these that _Ollie_ kind of resurfaces, the cocky, brash boy she knew before peeking out from beneath the more serious facade of the current Oliver. She thinks she likes this version of him the best, the mix of playful and seriousness that he only reveals whenever he’s alone with her and Diggle. He’s always so broody at work, grumpy to the point his assistant is almost scared of him (she’s not totally immune to gossip) and seeing him joking around like this is so refreshing.

 

“What are _you_ mooning at?” Diggle grumps at her, leaning forward, squinting. “What do I have on my face?”

 

“Nothing!” she yelps, caught out. “It’s nice, that’s all. That we’re all here, hanging out, right? Like friends, and not you know, driver, boss, colleague. It’s nice. I don’t usually have time for... well you don’t need to know about the sad state of my social life, wait, that implies I have one, which I don’t, actually, so let’s just leave it at... nice.”

 

Diggle’s face softens, forehead smoothing out, just as Oliver tightens his hold on her hand.

 

“We’ll do this every Friday,” Oliver states with authority. “You, me and Digg. Burgers, fries and milkshakes. Can’t have you being sad, can we?”

 

“I’m not sad, I said sad _state_ -”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Diggle agrees instantly. “Done. Us three, Big Belly Fridays. No take backs.”

 

Don’t cry, Felicity.

 

Oh boy, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

 

She wants to tell them that they don’t have to do this; that she’s not that important a person that they should carve out time on their Friday nights to have dinner with her, all because she doesn’t have a functioning brain-to-mouth filter.

 

But the words get stuck in her throat and her heart feels like a puddle of mush and all she can muster up is a quiet, “Thanks. Thanks, Digg. Oliver.”

 

And then Oliver’s day old beard is scratching over her cheekbone, his lips ghosting over her skin and she practically melts into him, swimming in gratitude and a sense of _belonging_ that is utterly overwhelming.

 

The jarring ringtone of Diggle’s phone breaks the spell of wonderment that’s woven itself around them and she jerks away from Oliver, who makes his displeasure known by the barely restrained growl that vibrates right through his chest.

 

Their food arrives at the same time, and in the seconds that follow, it’s a flurry of confused “Whose burger is this?” and “Uh, no Oliver you got the vanilla, I got chocolate, hands off!” until Diggle stands up, visibly agitated.

 

“I gotta run, guys,” he says. “Nothing serious, but my uncle’s in the hospital. Big Belly Fridays will officially have to start next week.”

 

“Oh, go, go!” Felicity insists, waving him off. Oliver’s already putting Diggle’s share of food into a separate paper bag for him. “And take that with you.”

 

“Oliver, I’ll have to take the car, do you -”

 

Confronted by the prospect of not only losing Diggle’s company for the night, but Oliver’s too, Felicity makes a snap decision before Diggle finishes his sentence. She slaps her hand over Oliver’s - wow, really _solid_ \- bicep, turning to him. He mouths an affronted _‘Ow’,_ that big baby, which she pointedly ignores.

 

“I drove from work, we’ll be fine. Right? I mean, if... uh, you don’t mind if I drive you home, do you, Oliver?”

 

Oliver shakes his head in response, urging Diggle out of their booth. “Yeah, it’s fine. Go see your uncle. Keep us updated?”

 

Digg grunts his affirmation, stepping out of the booth, looking more than a little on the edge. He departs with a hand around his paper bag of food and the other cradling his phone, not sparing a glance back at them.

 

“He’ll be fine, he said it wasn’t serious.” Oliver squeezes her hand again for reassurance. “C’mon, these burgers aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

 

Felicity pulls her hand out of his, noticing the lack of warmth immediately. Diggle leaving quite so abruptly has made her a little off-centre and suddenly sharing a booth with Oliver, alone and out in the open for everyone to see doesn't feel as appealing as it did before.

 

She scrunches up her nose and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “You wanna take these to go too?”

 

Oliver tips his head back, disappointment written all over his face. “Oh. Um, yeah, if you want. Yeah. You’re the one with the car, I’m at your mercy tonight. Gotta drop Cinderella off home by midnight, right?”

 

“Comparing yourself to Cinderella is so _way_ off I don’t even know where to begin,” Felicity chuckles. “But no, I meant... um, we can go back to my place? It’s close and there’s a bottle of wine I’ve had my eye on for a while but had no one to share it with so...” she trails off, blinking earnestly at him from behind her glasses.

 

This is fine, completely fine. Sure, the invitation was spontaneous and more of a panicked response to losing Oliver’s company for the night than a logical one, but platonic friends pretending to be a couple invite each other over for drinks all the time.

 

Nothing strange going on here at all.

 

“Ah, what about the no sleepover rule?” Oliver questions, even though the light is back in his eyes and the disappointment has all but disappeared. He’s already sliding out of the seat, waving down a waitress to bring them more paper bags for their food. He holds out a hand to help her out.

 

“Bold of you to assume you’re staying over again,” Felicity says, fingers wrapping around his as he helps pull her up.

 

“You underestimate my powers persuasion.”

 

The squeak of vinyl against the bare skin of her legs as she not so gracefully spills out of the booth makes them both laugh, with his hand coming around her back to steady her. For the barest of moments she imagines them as a real couple, with a real relationship, going home together to have a quiet Friday night in like normal couples do.

 

She aches with longing, and a touch of bitterness creeps around the edges of her heart because _God_ she wants that for herself. So badly that it physically hurts sometimes. And being around Oliver isn’t helping because he’s sweet, and thoughtful, and funny, and in other circumstances, if they hadn’t made it so unbelievably clear that this was all _pretend,_ she thinks he’d be a great boyfriend.

 

But as quickly as the thought manifested in her mind, she wills it away and locks it up in a vault deep in the dark recesses of her head. Because _none of this_ is real, and he’s just playing the part of a good boyfriend and for all intents and purposes, he’s just another man, who happens to be her friend, destined to never be anything more.

 

She schools her features, forgets about everything else except the bottle of red she’s finally going to be able to drink tonight.

* * *

“I peed on a cop car, I’m really good at archery, and I know George Lucas.”

 

Hm. Oliver has a _really_ good poker face. Well, his face is good in general; pretty, handsome, beautiful, all of that. But right now, it’s completely blank and all... smug-like.

 

Felicity leans forward, her wine glass tipping precariously between her fingers. Better drink more of it so it doesn’t spill. She sips the oh-so-decadent red, narrowing her eyes like that will help her see through his two truths and a lie, pulls her legs in so she’s sitting cross-legged on her couch facing him.

 

“The archery thing. That’s a lie,” she finally decides. Because why would Oliver be good at archery, of all things? It’s so archaic, and he just... doesn’t seem like an archery kind of guy.

 

Oliver grins at her and she knows she’s voiced her thoughts out loud again. “And what does an _archery kind of guy_ look like, exactly?”  

 

“I don’t know, Robin Hood,” She tilts her chin at the poster of the cartoon hero on her wall. “Tights and a hat. You don’t wear tights, or a hat. You do have a beard though, so... wait, was I right?”

 

“No.” Oliver swallows a mouthful of his beer before elaborating. He’d finished a glass of her wine before politely asking if she had anything else, apparently not as enthused about wine as she is. “I’m pretty good with a bow. I uh, well. The instructor’s daughter was really hot.”

 

“Of course. shoulda guessed there would be a girl involved. So you don’t know George Lucas?” She pouts when Oliver shakes his head. He’s staring intensely at her, zeroed in on her lips for some reason. Weirdo. “That’s a shame. I was hoping you would introduce us, I have _so_ many questions.”

 

Her calves start to cramp up, and she winces at the twinge of pain in her legs. This sitting cross-legged thing isn’t quite working for her, obviously, so she stretches her legs out again, lengthwise on the couch. She leans back against the armrest so she’s half lying down, oh that’s better.

 

Lying down is good.

 

Oliver, to his credit, takes all her fidgeting in his stride and allows her to put her feet up on his lap, laughing good-naturedly when she wiggles her toes at him once she’s comfortable.

 

“This okay?” She’s not _that_ drunk that she’s going to take advantage of his lap without checking first, duh.

 

“Very okay,” Oliver tells her, and if she’s not mistaken, his voice gets a little deeper, rougher. His hands curve over her ankles, thumbs rubbing circles over her flesh. “I like your pajamas.”

 

“Yeah? Mom gave them to me.” Pointing at the little stars dotting her pants, she smiles at the memory. “I’d just graduated from MIT and told her I was moving back to Starling. She went to Vegas. She said that even if we were miles apart, it’ll remind me that we’re still under the same sky.”

 

“That’s lovely.” Oliver’s fingers move on to the soles of her feet, gently massaging her arches. “Is _this_ okay?”

 

She finishes her glass of wine, lifts her head up to watch him. His face is tinged red, from the alcohol maybe? And there’s a muted blaze in his eyes as he waits for her to answer, fingers slowing down.

 

She slams her head back against the armrest of her couch, luxuriating in the way he’s working through the stiffness in her legs. “Mm yeah, feels good. Been in heels all day.”

 

His voice drops into a gruff murmur. “‘Kay. Good.”

 

The pressure against her tortured flesh increases as he kneads his fingers with expertise she didn’t know he had. Wow, this man has _layers._

 

His steady massaging lulls her into a state of calm, slipping in and out of a nice, peaceful wine-drunk haze. His hands are doing a really good job keeping her toes warm, tendrils of heat that sizzle slowly up the rest of her leg, sparking an undercurrent of arousal that she’s blaming on the alcohol and his stupidly clever fingers, and also steadfastly _ignoring._

 

“Tell me about yourself,” she asks, careful to enunciate her words clearly, needing the distraction because she doesn’t trust herself _not_ to act on the flames of want licking up her spine right now.

 

“About me?”

 

She hums. She sits up a little higher, back against the headrest, adjusting her glasses that had gone askew from all her lying down. “I know high school you, tabloid you. And I guess CEO you. Kind of. I want to know _you,_ you. Am I making sense?”  

 

“Yeah.” One of his hands leave her foot and glides up the back of her calves, pressing into the stiff muscles there as he purses his lips in contemplation. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“You know my father died.”

 

Felicity nods. It had been all over the news, even in Boston. The great Robert Queen who drowned at sea, leaving two children and his wife behind in Starling. The entire tech industry had been taken by surprise by the tragedy and she remembers wanting to reach out to Oliver even then, but MIT had been her top priority and Oliver... hadn’t been.

 

“Mom... was Mom. Took over the company like it was second nature to her. But it meant Thea was left alone a lot. And I was... an idiot back then. Partying, drinking, girls, you name it, I did it. But um, when dad died it kinda I don’t know. What do they say, about your world righting itself on its axis? What kind of asshole brother was I being to Thea? She needed a role model, someone to look up to, and Mom was great, of course, but so busy, and I think grieving dad in her own way by throwing herself into QC.”

 

“So you went to college,” Felicity murmurs in a quiet undertone.

 

“I knew I had to change. Get my degree, be better. For Mom, for Thea. For Dad. And I knew if I stayed in Starling, with all this history and bad memories, it would be so much harder to do that.  Didn’t really tell anyone either. I just applied, got the acceptance letter and left. I took the easy way out.”

 

“I wouldn’t call it easy,” she interjects, detecting the hint of self-loathing and regret in his words. “I left too. For different reasons obviously, but it wasn’t easy. What you did was brave, Oliver. Leaving everything you know to be better for you family? That takes courage. And when your mother died, you came back home for Thea. And for your company. You were, _are,_ so brave.”

 

Oliver turns to her, fully, with bewilderment and something like awe reflected on his face. He blinks at her, then his face cracks into the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen on him. Tender and soft and it’s so intimate that it makes her avert her gaze.

 

Fuck.

 

Must he be so _pretty?_

 

“Felicity,” he whispers, his hands stroking over the front of her legs, just above her ankles. “Felicity, thank you. That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

It’s too much. Way too much for her lowered inhibitions and he’s pulling her in so deep with his charming magnetism, she knows she’s crossing into very dangerous territory.

 

“If you tell anyone, I’m going to deny it,” she mumbles, desperate to move away from the bubble of intimacy they’ve created around themselves. Why is the wine gone? She needs more.

 

“It’ll be our secret,” Oliver laughs, still using that sexy, low baritone that’s feels like it's rippling right through her entire body.

 

He pushes her feet gently off his lap, reaching for the half empty bottle of wine on the table, while indicating for her to pass her glass to him, as if he’s been reading her mind. He pours her a good amount, and she has to sit up to make sure she doesn’t spill it when she takes it from him.

 

“Do you want to tell me about you now?” he asks, deftly popping the bottle cap off another beer for himself.

 

“Um...”

 

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “At all.”

 

She gulps down a few mouthfuls of wine. She doesn’t even savour it, just lets it go straight down her throat, much to the displeasure of her inner wine connoisseur. “It’s okay, but it’s not some remarkable Shakespearean tragedy or whatever, just so you know.”   

 

“You’re remarkable enough for me.”

 

 _“Oliver,”_ she whines, nose scrunching up. “Don’t... don’t say things like that, okay?”

 

He pouts, and Felicity thinks that maybe he's unaware of his own charm. “Why not?” he asks. 

 

Because it makes her want to kiss him senseless. Because there’s a _line_ , goddamn it. Because he’s making her feel things that a fake boyfriend shouldn’t, and because it’s doing a really good job of breaking down the carefully constructed walls she’d built around her heart to keep people like Oliver Queen out of.

 

“‘Cause it’s lame,” she answers instead, to which Oliver laughs again, his mirth echoing around her. She sips more wine before shaking her head once, clearing the disruptive thoughts in her head.

 

“I went to MIT after high school, graduated in ‘09,” she begins. Oliver whistles under his breath, awed again. “Toyed around with the idea of starting my own company, but then I got a couple of job offers, QC, Kord, Wayne Industries, PT - the big wigs, and I thought maybe it would be good to learn a thing or two from the best before going out on my own, you know?”

 

“Before becoming the best yourself?” Oliver teases.

 

“Yup.” She raises her glass to him with a knowing smirk. “I chose QC because Starling was familiar, worked my way up the ladder over the years, and here I am. See, totally boring, run of the mill life. Nothing about my days warrant telling anyone anything about, except I guess... being your fake girlfriend. But I can’t tell anyone else about that either, so moot point.”

 

She yawns then, almost as if her own life’s story is making her sleepy. How wonderfully miserable. But, also probably a sign. Her glass is once more woefully empty, and the alcohol-induced buzzing in her head is another surefire indicator that they probably should call it a night.

 

She’s had her fill of all the emotionally charged, spilling your guts out conversations with Oliver to last her a lifetime, and what she needs to do now is seek refuge in her room, alone, to sort out her very twisted up, muddled feelings about him.

 

“I can’t drive you home,” she says suddenly, awareness dawning upon her.

 

“Uh, you couldn't drive me home a bottle and a half ago, Felicity. I think your couch and I are gonna be  buddies again tonight.”

 

She pouts at him. “You tricked me into breaking the rules.”

 

“I _persuaded_ you. Like I said I would.” Oliver rises from the couch, holding his hand out to her. “C’mon, you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.”

 

That last glass of wine was a mistake, for sure, since getting off her couch proves to be more of an effort than she anticipated and okay, she’s really, really grateful that Oliver’s right there to hold on to, all sturdy and solid and strong. Lots of S words. Sexy. Is an S word.

 

“So is sleepy,” Oliver drawls, staring down at her with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Which means, oh, _fuck._

 

A whimper gets caught in her throat as her cheeks flame up. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” she mutters. She pushes him gently away from her, palms flat on his chest, appreciating for a split second, the wall of muscle under her hands before letting them fall to her sides.

 

“I’m drunk, you can’t hold what I say against me,” she complains. “And I’m now going to go to my room, before I say anything else, and you can stay,” She puts her hands on his shoulders, turns him around and shoves him back onto the couch, “Right there.”

 

She’s about to make a beeline to her bedroom, feet already in a half-turn away from Oliver, when he catches her hand, pulling her to a standstill.

 

He peers up at her from his seat on her couch, a glimmer of a smile curling over his lips. “What you said before, you know, about not telling people about your days?”

 

“‘Uh huh, cause they’re boring.”

 

Oliver squeezes her hand. “You Can tell me about your boring days. You _should._ I’d like to hear about them. Boring or otherwise.”

 

A lump forms in her throat and her chest tightens, immobilised by the raw honesty in his words. It floors her. Completely overwhelms her with waves of gratitude and warmth and her entire body feels like it’s about to fold into itself from the torrent of emotion that’s threatening to pour out of her.

 

“O-okay,” she croaks, stunned. “I - I’ll do that.” What else is she supposed to say? No?

 

She moves on autopilot after that, tossing a hurried goodnight at him before her feet somehow takes her to her room while she’s preoccupied churning his simple request in her head. Simple, and yet, she knows deep down inside that it’s _not_ that simple, with a myriad of implications she doesn’t want to think about right now.

 

If he thinks her hasty exit is weird, then he can deal with it. It’s his fault. What is he _doing_ to her? She doesn’t remember ever being affected by _anyone_ the way he affects her, and all he’s done is be nice to her. Charming. Flirty.

 

She pulls her pajama top off just before she crashes into her bed, because after everything they’ve said to each other tonight, it just feels constricting and suffocating and she really doesn’t want to have any barriers between her skin and the soft silk sheets on her bed tonight. The alcohol’s made her skin too hot anyway so it’s not like she’s going to be cold. She wrestles her pants off as well for sheer measure, leaving her in her panties before cocooning herself in her blanket.

 

Her last thought before she drifts off to sleep, cheek smushed against her pillow, covers pulled all the way up to her head, is whether or not Oliver’s going to cook her breakfast when she wakes up the next day.

* * *

At some point in the night, when it’s still dark outside and moonlight’s still shining through her window, something jolts her out of her slumber. She groans before pressing her face back into her pillow, almost immediately falling back asleep until -

 

“‘S’okay, just me.”

 

Well, _me_ can fuck right off and let her go back to sleep, she thinks, burrowing deeper into her covers. Her post-wine night dreams are always so real and visceral, and it looks like tonight isn’t any different.

 

“Your apartment is freezing, you didn’t give me any blankets.”

 

Jesus, why is dream voice being so fucking annoying right now? Sleep. Everyone needs sleep.  

 

“I know, and I’ll let you sleep in a sec, but do you have spare - ”

 

“Shutupppp,” she moans, flinging an arm blindly outwards. If she keeps her eyes closed, it’ll be easier to go back to sleep. “Get in, warm here.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Silence stretches out for a few seconds and Felicity smiles to herself. Good. Sleep time.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

 _Fuck. “_ Shhhhh!!!!”

 

“Okay, okay, I’m just gonna...”

 

Her bed shifts, dips, and she feels like she’s on a cloud that’s moving really, really fast through the skies. She’d like to fly around in a cloud car, she thinks. No traffic, no road rules, just free, of everything. Yeah, that’d be nice. She’d be able to visit her mom more often. Or not. But she could if she wanted to.

 

“Goodnight, Felicity,” dream voice speaks again, but quieter this time. Probably means he’s going to disappear and leave her alone now. The walls of her cloud car feel really solid all of a sudden, oh, it comes with heating, it turns out, and she snuggles back against it, pulling her covers back up. Can’t let her cloud car get cold.

 

“‘Night, cloud car,” she mumbles just as she winks back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer one this time, hope you don't mind! Thank you for reading and for all comments and kudos! 
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @griever_11


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver is no stranger to being kicked out of beds.

 

In fact, he’s been kicked out, done the kicking out, and watched as someone else get kicked out of bed a number of times in his adult life, but on this particular morning, as he startles awake to the familiar sensation of falling, tipping precariously over the edge of the bed, it hits him that he actually doesn’t know... _why._

 

_“Oliver!”_

 

The piercing shriek that accompanies what he believes is a foot against his back shoving him right off the edge threatens to bust his eardrums, and it takes all of his barely-awake senses to fling his arms in front of him to cushion his fall, palms and knees smacking against the hardwood floor.

 

“Jesus, what -”

 

“Why are you in my bed?!”

 

Oh, it’s Felicity’s voice. Felicity’s very loud, thundering, angry sounding voice.

 

He turns around blearily and falls back on his ass, still half-awake and not quite sure what’s happening. Felicity’s head pops over the edge of the mattress, her hair a tumble of golden curls framing the stormy expression on her face as she climbs to her knees, gearing up to scream at him again.

 

“And why are you _naked?!_ ”

 

“I’m not -” he looks down at himself for the first time since he opened his eyes and realises that while he isn't technically naked, he _is_ shirtless. Huh, interesting. How did that happen?

 

_“Oliver!!”_

 

He winces at her tone and thinks it’s probably in his best interest that he forces his brain to kick into gear. “Uh, it got hot under your blanket last night.” Right yes, he remembers now. “So I just took my shirt off. It’s not a big deal.”

 

She squawks at him, eyes flashing with fury, “No big -”

 

A pillow flies towards him and he rolls out of the way, jumping to his feet. Which is the exact moment he realises that in all her exasperated, yell-y, glory, Felicity appears to be very naked herself. No, scratch that, her _shoulders_ are naked, the _top of her breasts_ are naked, but everything below the teasing glimpse of her cleavage is unfortunately hidden under the bunched up blanket she’s holding tightly against herself.

 

He can’t help the way his gaze lingers on her; absorbing her strikingly blonde (is it blonder than usual this morning?) hair and her smooth skin that looks almost silky to the touch, kneeling in the middle of the bed, clutching the fluffy purple covers in her fist, surrounded by many, many, dark blue pillows - this might be better than her being _actually_ naked.

 

Oh _boy._ Trouble. He’s in so much trouble.

 

Another pillow whizzes past his head, horribly off-course, and Oliver comes back to himself. Reels in the desire simmering under his skin. “You’re naked too!” he chokes out, ducking another wayward pillow.

 

It hits him in that moment, that he’d been in bed with a naked Felicity all night. Mere inches apart, under the same blanket, for _hours._ At some point between getting in bed and getting kicked out of it, he’d taken his shirt off and they were both topless and holy mother of God, all they did was _sleep._

 

Ollie Queen would be so disappointed in him.

 

“This is _my_ room! I can be naked if I want! And for the second time, Oliver, what. Are. You. Doing. In. Here?!”

 

“You asked me to sleep with you!”

 

“I what?!”

 

“No, wait, don’t throw another - _damn it,_ Felicity! I asked you to give me a blanket last night because I was cold out there, but you kept asking me to shut up, then invited me to get into your bed with you! Then you called me a cloud and went back to sleep,” he finishes. “I promise that is all that happened,” he tacks on after a beat.

 

Her glasses are crooked on her face, like she jammed them on haphazardly as she woke up. She straightens them now, her fingers slowly adjusting her two-toned frames. The intensity of her glare doesn’t let up, but her lips press together in contemplative silence and Oliver stands his ground, waiting her out.

 

“You were my cloud car,” she finally says, realisation dawning on her. Her lips part slightly, the fire in her eyes dimming as she calms down. “Not a dream.”

 

“Uh... no.”

 

The breath she releases is a quiet one. “Oh.”

 

Something shifts between them in that moment, just as Felicity’s tongue darts out quickly to wet her bottom lip. A faint sigh escapes her, and Oliver picks up on the way her eyes are glazing over, raking a hot trail down his body and suddenly he’s really tempted to suck in his gut. Just a little.

 

The air is crackling, thick with tension, and the intensity of her perusal feels like it’s slowly electrocuting him. Sending pinpricks of charged energy down his chest, his ribcage, and further down, almost as if she’s cataloguing every inch of his exposed body.

 

He’s rooted to the spot, heart thumping in his chest. If he moves even the slightest muscle, he’s afraid he’s going to disrupt this fine balance of whatever’s happening between them right now. The familiar buzz of desire hums just under his skin, following the same painstakingly slow path Felicity’s eyes are taking as she continues flaying him with her laser like focus.

 

He can’t help but wonder what that focus would feel like up close, without the cavernous space of the floor and her bed between them. What her hair feels like against his skin, if her fingers, clenched so tightly around the blanket she’s holding up, would be as quick and nimble over his body as they are over her precious electronics. What she’d taste like.

 

Agonising need stirs in him, burning from the inside out. _O-k-a-y._ He balls his hands into fists by his side, trembling imperceptibly as he wills himself to control his simmering desire before it manifests in more _obvious_ ways.

 

“I really like your abs.” Her voice fills the silence between them. Low and deep, hoarse from the yelling, he thinks. She tips her chin upwards and shakes her head once, like she’s just surprised herself. Clearing her throat, she yanks the blanket further up her body and scoots backwards, tumbling into the mountain of fluff on her bed.

 

“I mean. Um. You know what, that’s exactly what I mean.”

 

Just like that, the undercurrent of tension fizzles out and Oliver lets out a nervous twitter of a laugh. “Thank you?”

 

She’s trying to play it off, but she’s blushing so strongly, and very pointedly not looking at him anymore that he knows, deep in his gut that she’s at the very least just as affected by his state of undress as he is by hers.

 

“Don’t get a complex about it. Everyone knows you’re hot,” she mutters, lying back down and staring at the ceiling. “Can you put your clothes back on now?”  

 

Oh. Okay.

 

So they’re not talking about what just happened.

 

Not talking about how she basically devoured him alive with her eyes and dragged his skin over hot coal as she did so, and not talking about how all of a sudden, it’s starting to feel like the only thing that’s fake about this relationship is the part where it’s fake.

* * *

 

To say that things between them become strained over the next week is putting it mildly. He leaves her place that Saturday morning before she even comes out of her bedroom, leaving a note and turning her coffee maker on for her because it’s the least he can do.

 

He gives her the day, battling every bone in his body that wants to call her, telling himself that the world will not end if he went a whole day without talking to her. But then his five text messages go unanswered on Sunday, and then on Monday morning she texts Diggle ( _Diggle!_ Not him!) telling him not to pick her up for work.

 

There are only so many times he can call down to her office asking for her before her assistant gets suspicious, and he really doesn’t want to deal with people speculating as to why QC’s golden couple are playing phone tag via their assistants so he leaves her alone after his third call and two emails and spends the next two days in a horrible mood.

 

On Thursday, after yet another Felicity-less drive to work ( _I don’t know man, she just said she didn’t need a ride_ ), and a text from Laurel asking if he really broke up with Felicity (he ignores her, though he does wonder how the hell she heard about it) Oliver decides enough is enough.

 

He didn’t do anything wrong on Friday night, and it’s downright unfair that Felicity’s made the decision to cut him off without a single explanation.

 

He’s never been the kind of guy who pines after a girl who’s not interested in him. There was always another willing blonde, or brunette, or whoever else waiting in line and he very gladly moved on with his them until the next one came along.

 

Or at least, that’s what _used_ to happen. Before his both his parents died, before college, before the dumb letters he sent that had set this entire mess in motion in the first place.

 

He’s suffered through almost a week without her bright smile greeting him as she walks out her front door, days without her morning chatter about what she expects from her day and God he really misses her something fierce. As he stares at his phone, silent and unmoving on his desk for the hundredth time that day, he’s without a shred of doubt sure that he’s pining for Felicity.

 

There’s no point in denying it anymore - he denied it these past few days and all that led to were very aggressive sessions at the gym and sleepless nights and now that he’s acknowledging that he’s someone who _pines_ about his fake girlfriend, means he can do something about it.

 

Something like telling Diggle to drive him to her place once he clocks off from work, avoiding the curious gaze of his friend the entire way, and then telling him to go once they arrive at her front door.

 

If he’s right there sitting at her doorstep, it’ll be pretty difficult for Felicity to avoid him. Even more difficult if he orders them dinner from her favourite restaurant while waiting for her to come home.

 

The telltale rumble of her car’s engine stirs him from his idle daydreams almost half an hour later, the sound of her voice drifting out her open window like music to his ears, a string of words that make no sense to him as she steps out of her car, phone glued to her ear.

 

He frowns. Has she been talking and driving all the way home? That’s dangerous. Which is why she should always come home with him. And Diggle. Not home, home just - jeez, he’s even babbling like she does in his head now.

 

Oliver stands up, brushing off the dust that settled on him, and Felicity shrieks, phone clattering to the ground as she slams her hand against her chest and screws her eyes shut.

 

“Why do you insist on shaving years off my life every time you want to see me?” she exclaims, nostrils flaring as she opens her eyes again. “What are you doing here?”

 

He takes the fact that she’s talking to him as a good sign. She’s made no move to walk further up her driveway, so Oliver bends over to pick her phone up before handing it back. “I literally sat here right in front of you as you drove up.”

 

“I was -” she snatches her phone out of his hand, examining it closely - though he thinks that’s just an excuse so she doesn’t have to look at him, “- busy trying to put out fires in your dumb company. How was I supposed to know you’d be here _stalking_ me?”

 

He nearly brings up her lack of spatial awareness again, but bites his tongue in the end. She’s brushed past him to unlock her door, but she hasn’t explicitly told him to go away yet, so he’s not going to push his luck.

 

“I um, ordered dinner,” he announces, hovering a few paces behind her as she pushes her front door open. “From that Chinese place you like? And I got us deep fried ice cream too.”  

 

He watches as her shoulders roll forward and she tilts her head up, the end of her ponytail grazing the top of her back. She stays that way for a second before muttering something he can’t make out under her breath and crossing the threshold to get inside.

 

Before he gets a chance to say anything else, she pivots on her feet, yanks the door wider and sighs. “Are you coming in or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and hope everyone has had a great week! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever11_


	9. Chapter 9

 

Oliver lasted longer than she expected him to, she’ll give him credit for that. Granted, scaring the wits out of her first thing in the morning while she was _naked_ hadn’t been ideal, but the fact that he waited so many days before confronting her about her... _issues_ , for lack of a better word, is impressive. 

 

Waking up to Oliver that Saturday morning had been a shock to her system and everything that transpired after? The whole Oliver without a shirt, Oliver and his muscles, Oliver with bedhead and Oliver staring at her like she’s the only piece of candy he wants in the entire candy store was a lot to take in.

 

Especially since recently, she’s finding it harder and harder to remember that there’s a very clear line she’s not supposed to cross in this whole stupid charade that they’re playing. 

 

“I just needed space,” she blurts out, unable to stand the way Oliver’s silently gazing at her from her couch, all intense and pensive and calm. It surprises her that he isn’t more angry or frustrated, or any of the emotions she thought she’d have to deal with when she saw him at her doorstep. 

 

Instead he just looks... expectant. How very mature of him. 

 

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that?” he asks. 

 

Felicity wrings her hands together, staring down at the spread of Chinese takeout Oliver had delivered for them on her kitchen counter. She’d told him to go sit on her couch on purpose while she unpacked the food, needing the time to collect herself and think about how she wants to explain things to him. Now though, the space between them feels cavernous and a part of her longs for him to come stand by her side like he usually does whenever they're having dinner together. 

 

“I don’t know,” she answers quietly.

 

She sees the flicker of doubt on his face, and she only just stops herself from throwing a spring roll at him. She’s trying to be honest here, and if that’s not enough for him then he can go ahead and leave. 

 

Except she doesn't want him to leave, so sucking a breath and drawing on all the courage she can muster up, she shakes her head and tries again. Tries to unravel the tangled strands of Oliver-related feelings that she’s been dealing with over the last couple of days. He deserves that much, at least. 

 

“Maybe ghosting you was... over the top,” she concedes. 

 

To his benefit, Oliver doesn’t gloat or look too pleased that she’s admitting fault. 

 

He just nods. Once. Right, okay. He wants more. 

 

“I didn’t want things to change between us. Okay? We had a moment in my room and I panicked because for a minute it looked like maybe... I don’t know, you were going to say something to upset this arrangement that we have and I didn’t want that. I like what we have, or had and I got scared. I’m... I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you.” 

 

It’s an almost-confession of sorts; that she’d toyed with the idea of them being in a real relationship, briefly, when his shirtless, god-like physique had been on display, and she wonders if Oliver picks up on that as he mulls over her attempt at an explanation. 

 

He frowns. “You thought talking about what happened would change things between us, so instead, you gave me the silent treatment for days without a single explanation and thought that _that_ wouldn’t?” 

 

“I...” She swallows, carefully not looking in his direction. When he puts it that way, all uncomplicated and untangled and straight to the point, it does seem stupid. Good job, Felicity. “Um, yes?” 

 

She ignores the huff of disbelief coming from his direction, her face souring because it sounds very much like he’s making fun of her plight and that’s not nice. Not when she’s still wondering if she’s ruined their fledgling friendship (that’s what they have, nothing more, she convinces herself) with her terribly misjudged overreaction to waking up naked in his arms. 

 

Much to her dismay, despite being four days old that particular memory still manages to bring a flush of heat to her cheeks. She ducks her head so Oliver doesn’t notice it. 

 

“Come here.” Oliver tilts his head to the side in an invitation for her to join him on the couch. When she doesn’t budge from her position behind the kitchen counter, he rolls his eyes and pats the seat next to him. “C’mon. I don’t bite.” 

 

She snags a piece of chicken, popping it into her mouth as she begrudgingly makes her way to her couch. 

 

“I like what we have too,” he says quietly when she sits down, echoing her sentiment. “Which is good, because that means we’re on the same page. The thing is, it’s... easy with you, you know? Being _present_ , with you. Maybe because you don’t look at me expecting me to be Ollie, or at least, you don’t anymore. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not around you.” 

 

Oliver runs a hand through his hair, then leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Or maybe all those therapy sessions are working and I’ve actually matured and grown up, or whatever. Either way, I _like_ this. And I want this to work for us.” 

 

Felicity nods quickly, agreeing, because _yes,_ she definitely wants this to work too. She reaches out to squeeze his fingers in hers for a brief moment, conveying with her actions what she can’t with her words. 

 

Ironic, considering words are her _thing._ But here she is anyway, choking on her feelings and afraid she’ll blurt out wildly inappropriate, _unrequited_ nonsense she doesn’t want Oliver to ever be privy to.   

 

“I realise that we went about this ass backwards with this fake relationship thing, but your friendship is important to me, and not just because we need to put up a front for the public, and not because I’m making up for being idiot back in high school. I really want us to be able to work things out without either of us disappearing for days on end when either one of us gets upset.”

 

“You say either of us, but we both know you mean me,” Felicity mumbles. 

 

Oliver raises his eyebrows and shrugs, but remains silent, waiting on her. He’s right, she doesn’t see him as Ollie Queen anymore, and she doesn’t know when that happened. Some time between receiving his letter and him appearing at her front door tonight, he’s become _Oliver_ to her. 

 

Just a guy trying his best to keep his head above water in the daily struggle called life, and someone who’s close to being a really good friend. 

 

Who also happens to be insanely attractive, the voice in her head snarks. Who she’s seen shirtless. And slept with. Platonically. But still. 

 

“Okay,” she says finally, a little too loud, pushing all thoughts of sleeping with Oliver in all capacities, out of her head. She delights in the way Oliver’s face lights up, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

 

She can be an adult about this, totally capable of squashing the crush she’s knows she’s developing for him because _this_ is more important. This, being the friendship they’re cultivating despite the false pretenses it was borne from.             

 

“Yeah, okay. I won’t run if things ever get... weird again,” she promises as she twists her fingers together in front of her. “On one condition. You’re not allowed to be shirtless in my presence, ever.”   

 

Oliver laughs, full and hearty, throwing his head back. She suspects it isn’t something he does often and she preens a little on the inside, irrationally pleased with herself because she’s the one who managed to get it out of him.

  


She takes in the sight before her; Oliver still laughing, body rumbling with a lightheartedness that hadn’t been there when he first arrived, completely at home on her couch. Seeing him like this does wonders in easing the tightness in her chest, loosening the tangled web of confused and undefined feelings criss-crossing around her heart. 

 

This little hiccup was just that. A hiccup. It’s not like she’s an expert in being a fake girlfriend to a ridiculously hot specimen of the opposite sex, so of course there are going to be teething issues. 

 

When Oliver tilts his head back down to grin at her, he looks so unburdened that the tension plaguing them all night dissipates. His reaction infuses her with confidence and she has no doubt that they’ll be fine. _She’ll_ be fine. 

 

“I’m serious. Your _everything_ is a lot, okay? Especially first thing in the morning.”

 

“What if I’m shirtless last thing at night?” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

 

“Then you can freeze to death with no blankets again next time,” Felicity remarks as she walks back to the kitchen. Oliver makes a move to follow her, but she stops him with a wave of her hand. “Stay there, put a movie on, let me get our food.”

 

Neither of them acknowledge the implication of the _next time_ that lingers in the air between them, unspoken.

* * *

Their carpool resumes without preamble, the limousine already waiting for her the next morning as she bounds down her porch steps. She collects her coffee and her paper bag of breakfast from Oliver with a smile, like the past few days of radio silence between them never happened, and settles in for the ride to work.

 

Yeah, Felicity will never, ever take this for granted again. 

 

If she ever gets into another fight with Oliver, she’s going to make sure Diggle doesn't stop picking her up. She loves her Mini Cooper, she does, really, but the luxurious, soft leather backseat of Oliver’s car, along with the promise of breakfast and not having to personally navigate through rush hour traffic is something she sorely missed during her self-imposed banishment from all things Oliver Queen. 

 

“How’s Lyla? She’s doing okay?” she asks, straining forward against the seat belt as she converses with Diggle. “I know you guys are kinda like, super solid but I haven’t had an updated about two of you in forever. And I think she’s great for you. Aw, I’ve missed our morning catch ups.” 

 

“Felicity you’ve only missed a few days of carpooling. Nothing’s changed.” Oliver palms her shoulder and guides her backwards until her back is flush against the seat again. “Come on, don’t do that, it’s dangerous.”

 

She glares at him. “No it’s not, because I’m buckled in. And I asked Diggle, grumpy pants, not you.” 

 

She spies Diggle’s amused grin reflecting back at her from the rear-view mirror and she grins back at him. 

 

“Yeah, Lyla and I are good, and for what it’s worth, I’m glad you guys are good too. Oliver didn’t take your break up too well, as short-lived as it was.” 

 

Felicity freezes, coffee halfway to her lips just as Oliver makes a noise under his breath. 

 

“We didn’t break up,” they say at the same time. 

 

Thea peeks around the side of the front passenger seat, eyes gleaming, suddenly interested in the turn of conversation. “Are you sure? ‘Cause big bro here has been completely insufferable while you were MIA and Olicity Watch says you avoided each other at work like the plague.”  

 

“Olicity _what?_ ” 

 

“I have not been insufferable!” 

 

Thea cackles loudly as she turns back towards the front. “You guys are so precious. Honestly.”

 

Oliver’s glowering in his seat in full grumpy mode, muttering unintelligibly under his breath about bratty little sisters, so it’s clear he’s not going to give her anything about this _watch_ thing Thea just mentioned. Felicity leans forward again, tapping Thea on her shoulder. 

 

“Thea, what’s Olicity Watch?” 

 

“Only the best almost-stalkery Twitter account dedicated to you two that ever existed on the internet, duh.”

 

She already has the app open before Thea’s done speaking. The account has a huge following, littered with what looks like sneaky shots of her and Oliver (they’re mostly just walking in and out of QC, but _still_ ) and a quick skim of the most recent tweets indicates that people really are speculating over the state of her and Oliver’s relationship. Mouth falling open in horror, she turns her screen to Oliver. 

 

“Oliver, she’s not kidding.” 

 

He spares her phone a fleeting glance before returning to glare at the back of Thea’s head. “She probably started the account.”

 

“I did not!” Thea tosses a ball of paper at her brother that bounces off his forehead and onto the floor. “As if I have time to follow you guys around and... oh, hey, now that I’m thinking about it...” 

 

“No.” 

 

“You don’t even know what I’m-” 

 

“If it involves you following me around anywhere, the answer is no.” 

 

It’s nice to see the two of them like this, Felicity thinks as she half-listens to them bicker between themselves. Oliver’s mentioned in passing that his relationship with Thea had suffered during his time at college and he’s been trying to mend fences with her ever since he came back. 

 

Casual bickering aside, it looks like he’s succeeding and even if she has no reason to be, fake girlfriend that she is, she’s proud of him. 

 

“You absolutely will _not_ be our manager.” Oliver’s voice ticks up a notch and Felicity brings her attention back to the conversation. 

 

“Why not? You need someone to control what people like Olicity Watch put out there, I want to go into public relations after I graduate, it’s legitimately a win-win situation. For all three of us! I’m sure Felicity doesn’t want people sniffing around her private business like they did when she first got promoted to VP, right?” Thea turns around to fix her with innocent, wide eyes, a hopeful smile on her lips. 

 

“Yeah, that was not pleasant at all, no,” she admits, frowning at the memory. 

 

“Why didn’t QC handle that?” Oliver asks her, visibly agitated at the thought, bristling in anger. “Was it really bad? Did they give you a hard time?” 

 

“They-,” Thea makes air quotes around the word, “- made up all sorts of rumours about Felicity and how she managed to get the promotion. Then when they realised that everything was all legit and above board, they went back and dug up all sorts of things from her past just to be dicks about it.” 

 

Felicity stares at her. “I didn’t realise you were following all of that nonsense.”  

 

Thea shrugs. “Hard not to when it’s the family’s company. Besides, a young, genius, woman dominating a predominantly male field of expertise? Of course I was interested. Girl power, right?” She pumps a fist in the air, winking at Felicity. “My point is, _Ollie,_ that we can avoid things like that, like the speculation about you guys breaking up if you had someone in the forefront managing all of it.” 

 

“You know that doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan,” Diggle pipes up just as they turn into the high school drop off zone. “Very proactive, little Queen.” 

 

Thea beams at him. “Thanks Diggle! I thought so too.” She bats her eyes at Oliver as she unbuckles her seat belt, popping the front door open. “Anyway, think about it, please? And think about how good it’ll look on college applications!”

 

If there’s anything that could convince Oliver to go along with this half-cooked plan of hers, it’s dangling the idea that she’s thinking about college and from the way Thea’s smirks all the way to the front steps of Starling High, it’s clear she knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

“Wow, she’s good,” Felicity says, reaching out to pat Oliver’s thigh. “And not wrong. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone on top of these things.” She waves her phone in his face with her other hand for emphasis. 

 

“They’re wondering if you cheated on me,” she reads out, squeezing his thigh as she scrolls through more of the tweets. The statement makes Oliver mutter under his breath (she swears it sounds like ‘I’d never cheat on you’) and she falters when Oliver takes her hand in his. She lets her gaze flicker downwards for a second, then continues through the Twitter feed like she’s not totally marveling in the way their fingers just _fit_. 

 

“Oh, someone saw me getting in the car this morning, looks like it’s official that we’re not broken up anymore. Yay!” 

 

“This is so ridiculous,” Oliver grumbles, looking out the window. “I thought I’d left all this nonsense behind.” 

 

“You’re Oliver Queen, people are always going to want to know what you’re up to, whether you like it or not.” 

 

His only response is a quiet ‘hmph’, and they spend the rest of the commute to work in silence. She would have thought she’d offended him somehow, if not for the way his thumb is still rubbing circles over her hand subconsciously, like he’s trying to smooth out imaginary wrinkles on her skin. 

 

Apparently this is a thing they do now. _O-kay._

 

Diggle pulls up to the front of Queen Consolidated without another word from Oliver so Felicity assumes he’s going to forget about the whole Olicity Watch spectacle and let Thea down gently. She understands his hesitance, of course, but a part of her feels bad for Thea, who seemed genuinely excited about her idea.

 

Maybe she can ask Thea to be her _personal_ social media manager? She could probably wrangle some sort of official arrangement between them that can count for credits which will help Thea with college. She hasn't known the younger woman for very long, but she likes her and she wants to be able to help her out in any way she can.  

 

She’s still weighing up the pros and cons when they get to the elevator, where she and Oliver usually part ways to their respective floors, when Oliver tugs at her hand - that he hasn’t actually let go since taking it in the car - pulling her backwards before she can push the button to call the elevator. 

 

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” he asks. “Thea’s? Do you think we should do it?” 

 

“I already said it wouldn’t hurt,” she repeats what she told him. His tie is a little crooked, most likely from all the fidgeting he’d been doing in the car, so she peels her hand out of his to straighten it. “I meant it. And it’s nice that she wants to help although I think she secretly just wants to hang out with you more.”

 

“I didn’t think of that,” Oliver murmurs, arching his neck so she can centre his tie. “Spending more time with Thea would be nice, you’re right.”    

 

“You’ll find out soon enough that I’m _always_ right,” she smirks, patting his chest once when she’s done, admiring her handiwork as she slides her fingers down his tie. “There. Can’t let you go CEO-ing with a crooked tie, can I?” 

 

“Wouldn’t be very girlfriend-ly of you, no.” Oliver smiles down at her, and it’s then that she realises how close they are to each other. Another inch and the tip of her nose would be pressed up along the side of his shirt collar. She catches a whiff of his cologne and bites down on her lip, hard, because ugh. He smells good. 

 

Real good. 

 

The scent reminds her of when she kicked him out of bed after they spent the night together, but stuck around to burrow into her sheets long after he’d left just because she wanted to smell like him - 

 

_S t o p._

 

She mentally chastises herself for the tiny slip into forbidden territory. She _just_ promised herself that she’s going to keep her crush under control and that absolutely does not involve fantasising about how good he smells in bed. 

 

Her hand is still wrapped around his tie and she lets go of it like it’s on fire. She takes a step back from him, breathes in deep and plasters the brightest smile she can muster on her face. 

 

“Okay! Off you go now, boyfriend!” she chirps, nudging him forward and into an elevator that’s just dinged open. “I’m just uh, gonna go take the stairs. Cause it’s good for my health. Work off that croissant you got me for breakfast.” She lifts up on her toes to brush a kiss against his cheek - for show! - as he stumbles into the carriage. “Have a good day! Bye!”

 

Oliver barely has time to turn around, eyebrows furrowed at her with confusion, before the doors slide shut and Felicity lets out a huge sigh. Stupid, _uncontrollable_ feelings. God damn. How is the mere _smell_ of him making her heart race this fast? 

 

“Real smooth, Smoak.” 

 

She startles, whirling around. Tommy grins at her, looking pretty dashing in his suit. He’s not Oliver-level hot (she’s really got to stop this, wow) but he’s still very pretty and she can appreciate a man in a good suit. 

 

“Hey, Tommy,” she greets with a little wave of her hand. She knows she’s blushing from being caught acting so flustered, but there’s nothing she can do about it now except pretend that everything is _fine._ “Good morning!” 

 

“Indeed, it is. I was afraid the rumours were true and that you two broke up, but looks like you guys are still together,” Tommy inclines his head to the elevator Oliver disappeared into. “Which is great, because we’ve finally nailed down the seating arrangements for the wedding and Laurel would lose her mind if she had to move things around again.” 

 

Is that... some sort of veiled threat? His way of subtly warning her not to mess up the ‘Wedding of the Century’ (the tabloids’ words, not hers)? She doesn’t think Tommy had it in him, but Laurel on the other hand... 

 

“No no, we’re very together. No breaking up, no way. Unless, well, it’s not like I’m going to force Oliver to be with me if he doesn’t _want_ to, of course. But he does. And I do, and... yeah.” she flounders. Swallows. Counts back from three. “Anyway. I gotta... go. To work. So, see you!” 

 

She retreats around the corner towards the stairwell as fast as she can in her heels, Tommy’s amused chuckle ringing in her ears. Great. _Awesome._ She’s supposed to be helping Oliver convince Tommy that they’re madly in love and she almost blew it, quite possibly making a complete fool of herself at the same time, all because she can’t keep her emotions in check. 

 

Her eyes flutter shut as she approaches her office, trying her best to shake off her encounter with Tommy and regain some semblance of control before she makes a start on her day. Who knew that pretending to be Oliver’s girlfriend would be so exhausting? 

 

On the bright side, seeing Tommy reminds her that the big wedding is indeed fast approaching, which means it’s only a matter of time until she and Oliver can end this charade that’s threatening to give her an emotional ulcer - if there’s even such a thing. 

 

And then she can go back to her relatively boring, uninteresting, pre-Oliver Queen, life of an I.T genius and leave the dramatic antics of society’s elite behind her. 

 

Thank God. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!   
> Happy Friday and End of Financial Year for those who live on this end of the Earth :)


	10. Chapter 10

He glances at her for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes. Which, sure, seems excessive, but when they’re in matching baseball jerseys and baseball caps, it’s really, really hard not to stare. 

 

No matter how many times he’s already done so. 

 

Felicity’s deep in thought, lips pursed, eyes downcast as she stares at the scorecard on her lap. Thea’s explaining how it works to her, but the frown lines on Felicity’s forehead tells him her interest in the subject - baseball -  is waning and none of it is sinking in. 

 

“Hey, Thea, wanna take a break? I think you’re overloading Felicity with all this information,” he says as he eases the scorecard out of Felicity’s fingers.

 

She looks up at him, grateful, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ while Thea rolls her eyes and grumbles about so-called geniuses unable to grasp the concept of sport. 

 

“It’s just not my thing,” Felicity tells Thea apologetically. “Which, you know, is totally on me, and definitely not anything against you, or the rest of the sports loving world. I mean, watching men play with their balls -” she cringes, jerks backwards as she catches Thea’s look of horror. “Not their balls. The balls. Ball. Baseball. Crap.” 

 

Her eyes are wide and frantic when she turns to him. “Help me.” 

 

Laughter bubbles up from deep inside him, a feeling that had been so unfamiliar since his mother died, but one that he’s experiencing more and more while he’s around Felicity.

Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t think I can, Felicity. Dont’ think I want to either.”

 

They’re about a month from Tommy’s wedding, which means they’ve been in this pretend relationship for the same amount of time. It’s practically no time at all, compared to his on-off thing with Laurel that had lasted years longer than it should have, yet Oliver doesn’t remember feeling this way with Laurel, _ever._

 

It’s also probably really dumb to compare what he had with Laurel to what he has with Felicity but he can’t help it. Being with Felicity doesn’t feel like a chore or an obligation even if the contract they signed hovers over their relationship like a doomsday shadow. 

 

She doesn’t hold his past against him, doesn’t expect him to be someone he’s not, and sometimes she does thing thing with her lips; pressing them together as her nose scrunches up like she’s suppressing a laugh because she genuinely finds him funny. It’s cute. She’s cute. 

 

And she makes him _happy._ In the truest, purest sense of the word. 

 

They’ve started working together a lot more at work too, so in addition to knowing how whip-smart she already is, Oliver’s also finding out that she’s got a knack for business administration and navigating the politics of the corporate world. He’s not ashamed to admit that she’s saved his ass more than once in the last month, whether it’s because she caught something he hadn’t, or providing solutions he would have never been able to think of without her. 

 

“What’re you staring at?” She wrinkles her nose at him, chewing on the straw sticking out of the soda cup she’s drinking from.

 

He lets his heart take over, just for a second.

 

“You,” he answers honestly, anticipating the blush that climbs past her neck. 

 

He tips the bill of her cap back so he can watch her eyes focus in on him, not bothered in the slightest by the familiar glare she bestows upon him whenever she thinks he’s coming on too strong. 

 

“Thank you for coming with me,” he continues, brushing his hand along the side of her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your evenings.” 

 

“Yeah, well, you’re here, it’s not that bad.” 

 

Is this what the hopeless romantics mean when they talk about their hearts skipping a beat? He’s sure he looks a fool right now, blinking dumbly at her as he tries to get his erratic heart in check. Swallowing the surprise, he shakes his head and slides closer to Felicity. 

 

“Oh, okay. That’s good.” Oliver mentally slaps himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m glad you think so.” 

 

“Thea might be regretting inviting me, but for what it’s worth, I’m kinda enjoying myself,” Felicity pats his knee in reassurance, completely missing the fact that he’s been socked in the gut by her previous response.

 

“The atmosphere’s nice.” She waves a hand around and tips her head back, eyes fluttering shut. Her cap casts a shadow over her face, and combined with the way the stadium lights are criss-crossing around them, highlighting her profile, it makes her look ethereal. Angelic. He wishes he could take a picture of her, just like this. So he can preserve this one single moment for the rest of eternity.

 

“Plus, these seats are great, and like I said, the company’s not bad.” 

 

“Speaking of...” Oliver pulls himself out of his Felicity-induced stare fest before she realises he’s being creepy. He cranes his neck to look past her, only to find Thea’s seat suspiciously empty. “Where’d Thea go?”   

 

Felicity takes a long, dragging sip of her soda, her lips puckering around the straw as she shrugs. He’s instantly fixated on the sight before him, the way her throat bobs as she swallows the last of her drink, her tongue darting out quickly to catch the stray liquid, and suddenly all he hears is the way his heart is thudding hard against his chest, loud and obnoxious in his ears that drowns out the noise of the crowd around them. 

 

God. 

 

_Why._

 

“Um, I think someone just like, scored or something,” Felicity shakes his arm, her small fingers wrapping around his bicep, making him turn back to the game in front of him, cheeks flaming, heart racing.

 

True enough, everyone around them is on their feet, celebrating the Rockets’ home run with raucous applause. Felicity gives him an expectant look before getting to her own feet, both hands in the air, drowning in her oversized jersey. 

 

Seeing her in it overwhelms him with a sense of possessiveness; a wild, untamed thing uncurling in his chest desperate to proclaim that this amazing, adorably clueless woman wearing the same jersey he is, is _his._

 

“That _is_ our team that just scored, right?” She pokes him in his arm, grimacing like she’s afraid she’s just celebrated the wrong team. 

 

The question makes him laugh out loud as he stands to join her, clapping with the others. He bumps his shoulder into hers. “Yes, Felicity. We just hit a home run.” 

 

“Okay then. Yay, us!” 

 

She keeps cheering along with the crowd, whooping and hollering, nearly knocking her own cap off her head in her exuberance. Oliver soaks it all in, buoyed by all the excitement around him. It’s been a while since he’s had time to be at a game, and he lets himself enjoy just being there, in the moment, right in the thick of everything.

 

The Rockets are doing extremely well tonight, and the on-site commentators are beside themselves as they rain praises on the team out in the field. The players’ statistics flash over and over on the Jumbotron overhead, something that Felicity actually seems to be interested in, if the way she’s clutching his forearm while muttering the numbers to herself is anything to go by. 

 

“Hope you guys didn’t miss me too much!” Thea’s voice emerges amidst the noise. She suddenly reappears in her seat next to Felicity, balancing a tray of more drinks and food in her hands.  

 

Felicity crows with delight, turning to make a grab for one of the hot dogs on the tray. The material of her baggy shirt gets caught on the edge of her seat making her stumble, and she only manages to not fall over because Oliver’s arm flies out to catch her, banding around her midsection, holding her tightly against him. 

 

“Be careful,” he says, exasperated, because he’s losing count of how many times he’s uttered those same words in the short time he’s known her. “Seriously, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself one day.” 

 

Felicity turns her head, almost blinding him with the bill of her cap, and sticks her tongue out at him. “But you’ll be here to catch me, won’t you?” 

 

He’s taken aback by her blatant flirting but doesn’t get a chance to let her response sink in because Thea’s pulling Felicity away from him, a wistful smile on her face. “Aw, you two are so cute! Are you guys like the perfect couple or what?” 

 

A pang of guilt settles in his gut at her exclamation. 

 

Thea really likes Felicity, and really likes _him_ with Felicity and he’s not looking forward to when all of this is over and he has to tell her Felicity isn’t his girlfriend anymore. Not only will Thea probably resent him for it, but he’s afraid it might undo all the progress they’ve made in rebuilding their relationship since he returned. 

 

“Where did you go anyway?” Oliver asks Thea, not wanting to think about their eventual break up. At all. “Getting food doesn’t take that long.” 

 

His sister just winks at him. 

 

_Oh no._

 

Oliver frowns at her, leaning backwards to see past Felicity’s body. “What did you do?” he mouths at her, dread seeping into his veins with every second that ticks by. His eye twitches with suspicion. “Thea, what -”

 

_“Oh, look what we have here! It appears we have royalty among us tonight!”_

 

The sports commentator’s booming voice startles him, making him whip his head right around to face the open stadium. The crowd cheers at the announcement, the noise rolling through the arena, getting louder and louder until all he can hear is the deafening rumble of everyone around them. 

 

Felicity huddles closer into him, her fingers reaching blindly to hold onto his waist, steadying herself. When he looks down at her, wincing at the still ongoing cheering around them, he’s more than a little shocked to see the abject horror written all over her face. 

 

“We’re on the _kiss cam_!” Felicity whines, tightening her hold on him as she tilts her head towards the field. 

 

They’re being hooted and hollered at, and sure enough when he finally dares to look up at the bright, flashing Jumbotron overhead, he sees his own giant face staring back at him. He moves his body instinctively, angling his bulk so that he’s half-shielding Felicity from the cameras.

 

“Thea!” he hisses, because this stunt has her name written all over it. “Are you kidding me?” 

 

“Thank me later,” she sing-songs as she holds up her phone to capture what is probably one of the most embarrassing moments he’s had to go through in his entire life.

 

“Oliver, it’s not going away,” Felicity complains, hands fisting around his jersey, digging into his sides. The top of her cap skims along the bottom of his chin as she fidgets by him. In any other circumstances, he would really be enjoying their proximity but Felicity’s clearly annoyed at the attention, close to being upset, and he can’t have that. 

 

“Thea, get them to stop.” 

 

Unfortunately for him, demanding things of Thea never usually works and this is no different. She merely shrugs at him. “All you have to do is kiss your girlfriend,” she smirks, still holding her phone up. “Come on! Hurry up!”

 

Obnoxious ball-game music blares around them, and with every gaudy note, he feels Felicity tense up even more. Oliver drops his gaze down to her and something in him twists painfully. Her eyes are focused on him, clear as day, her expression unreadable. He doesn’t like not being able to read her.  

 

“Are you okay?” he asks, sliding his hand down her cheek to rest over the top of her shoulder. She shivers under his touch, and he moves imperceptibly closer, further obscuring her from the cameras, giving in to his protective streak. “You’re uncomfortable. We can leave.” 

 

It’s a testament to how well he’s come to know her, that he recognises what he’s started privately to call her _thinking_ face. Instead of taking him up on his plan to escape, her eyebrows knit together, forehead wrinkling as she sighs deeply, decision apparently made. 

 

“Let’s just get it over with,” she says. 

 

_What?_

 

His mouth falls open. Did he mishear - what is she saying? Stunned, Oliver shakes his head, swallows and hisses, “But our rules -” 

 

“You were never good with them anyway,” she smiles softly up at him. She removes her hat with one hand, letting it drop to her seat, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. 

 

She stands before him dwarfed by her jersey, curly waves framing her face, pink lips pursed in amusement as she waits for his response; she’s a vision to behold and his knees almost buckles at the sight.

 

“Kiss me, and they’ll move on,” she insists, prodding him with a finger as she thinks he still needs to be persuaded.

 

It’s not persuasion he needs, it’s _air._ Air, because he feels like it’s all been sucked out of his lungs at the thought of kissing her and - _holy crap_ \- his brain is struggling hard to keep up, still stuck on _‘kiss me’,_ that he doesn’t notice that she’s moved out from behind his body, angled herself so their profiles are caught straight on by the camera and then - 

 

And then her lips are on his. 

* * *

 

The world doesn’t end. 

 

The ground doesn’t fall away under her feet. 

 

Time doesn't come to a screeching stop. 

 

Essentially, none of the things she expects to happen when she finally feels his lips against hers happens. She’s not going to lie to herself and pretend that she _hasn’t_ imagined kissing him, so of course there are  _expectations_ , but true to form, much like everything she’s learned and is learning about Oliver Queen, she’s completely taken by surprise. 

 

When his scruff scratches gently against her skin and she picks up on his barely audible shocked gasp; when she feels the short puff of air he releases before he reacts to her spontaneity, _properly_ reacts - it’s like he’s breathing the very essence of life into her. 

 

So yeah, the world doesn’t end when she kisses him and instead, it comes alive. _She_ comes alive. 

 

Parts of her are slowly waking up from a deep, dormant slumber with every pass of his lips over hers. She melts into him, not even ashamed of the shiver that courses through her body at the contact, sighing with satisfaction as she opens her mouth to him. He tastes like the butter from the popcorn he’s munched on all evening, but also of happiness and freedom and she groans, licking greedily into his mouth, wanting to figure out what else he can taste like.    

 

His hands come up to cup both sides of her face, holding her in place, like he needs her to slow down, and despite her desperation, she lets him take over. Her nose bumps into his and he apologises by pulling her bottom lip between his, sucking gently, almost like he’s scared she’ll change her mind and pull away. 

 

_As. If._

 

Her glasses are sitting precariously on her nose, but she doesn't need to see to enjoy what’s happening right now. Doesn’t need her sight to enjoy the way his tongue drags lazily over her lips, her teeth, not insisting or seeking anything, simply tasting her. 

 

She pushes against him, wanting more, needing more of the spark of life and light and joy he’s igniting in her, her hands clutching both sides of his hips, keeping him flush against her. The contrast of his scratchy beard around her mouth and his softer than expected lips pressing into hers is _magic,_ the forbidden kind, the kind that lives in the restricted section in the Hogwarts library, and she wants to hold on to everything she’s feeling in that moment forever. 

 

She laughs, chuckling quietly as she nips at his lips some more, her brain clearly not quite functioning if she’s thinking about _Hogwarts,_ unable to keep up with the sensations he’s invoking within her. She finds herself see-sawing between _holy shit, is this really happening_ and _holy shit why hasn’t this happened sooner?_ and bless her malfunctioning brain, she can’t (won’t) come up with a legitimate answer. 

 

And then his hand moves down to curve around her neck, his forehead skims over hers and he slowly, very slowly, tilts his head up and away, breath stuttering, eyes closed, and places one last kiss on her nose. 

 

Someone bumps into her back and Felicity huffs in surprise, drawn out of the haze of lust and want and desire. 

 

“Hey, love birds, game’s back on. I’m going to go to the ladies, gonna need to bleach my eyes out from all that PDA. Jeez, we get it, you’re in love, wow. I regret ever bribing the cameraman for this.” 

 

Felicity’s in the midst of processing everything, still about twenty seconds behind current time, stuck enjoying the way his teeth had gnawed on her lip, when Thea’s disgusted muttering registers in her blown-by-Oliver’s-kiss mind. 

 

“Huh?” Her legs don’t feel like they belong to her and she all but falls backwards down in her seat, a little shaky, a little dazed. 

 

“Oh. The game, right.” 

 

Awareness dawns upon her finally, and then she’s blushing, hard. She knows if she looks down past the baggy collar of her baseball jersey, even her chest would be tinged pink right now.

 

Because she just made out with Oliver. In public. With tongue. 

 

_Holy sh-_

 

“You okay?” 

 

Oliver’s voice comes out in a low rasp, rough, like he’s finding it just as hard to make sense of what just happened. He slumps heavily into his seat and runs a hand through his hair, his smile watery, a little unsure. 

 

Her tongue darts out on its own accord at the sight of his nervousness, trying to capture and memorise the taste of him on her lips because from the way he’s fidgeting by her side, it’s clear she’ll probably never get the chance to do so again. 

 

“Uh... yeah.” Her voice cracks as she speaks. ”Yes, I’m okay,” she reaffirms.

 

Clearing her throat, she finds her cap and jams it onto her head, turning away from Oliver. Petty, she knows, but it means her field of vision is obscured and she doesn't have to face the fallout of their very public display of affection. 

 

She’d been so caught up in the moment, in the bubbly, floaty, euphoria of sharing the experience of being at the baseball game with him that she just... lost sight of their grand plan, just for a second. And when the kiss cam had panned over to them, in the midst of the surprise and slight embarrassment at the ordeal, she realised that it wasn’t panic or fear that had been her first reaction. 

 

It had been relief. 

 

And anticipation. 

 

Her crush on him isn’t just a crush anymore, she can admit that much to herself. She’s dangerously toeing the line of having real, tangible feelings for Oliver, but he can never find out because she can’t bear to lose him as a friend.  

 

But when the opportunity presented itself in the form of the kiss cam, she had selfishly suggested they play along. She’d been completely and utterly selfish, because she’d dreamed of kissing him more than a few times, fantasised about how he’d feel against her, and in that one brief moment of temporary insanity, she had given in to the temptation.

 

And now she’s sitting on her hands, feet jiggling beneath her, steadfastly ignoring Oliver’s stare that’s boring holes into the side of her head, praying to every God in the known universe that he might let this particular misstep go and just forget this entire thing ever happened. 

 

“Felicity?” 

 

The Gods clearly aren’t listening to her right now. 

 

She slips a hand out from under her her, curls her fingers into a fist, inhales, long and steady and finally turns to him. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Are you really okay?” he repeats, his expression shuttered, less nervous than he’d been mere seconds ago. Like he’s bracing for the worst, expecting her to bolt like she did before and subject him to more silent treatment. 

 

He’s... not entirely off the mark; a huge part of her wants to bury her head under her blankets and never come out until the kiss cam fanfare has passed. But she promised him that she wasn’t going to run anymore, and she likes keeping her promises so she swallows, presses her lips together and nods. 

 

“Mmhm,” she squeaks. He doesn’t look convinced, so she tries again. “A-okay. Perfect. I mean, as far as you know, kissing you in front of uh, _everyone,_ goes, it could have gone a lot worse?”

 

Her voice drops into a whisper. “And for a first kiss, I haven’t had one in a while so I can’t really judge, but wow, like, I thought it was amazing, 10/10 full marks, real nice -” _Why_ \- God _why_ can’t she stop talking?! “- Princess Diaries, foot popping kinda nice, even though _my_ foot didn’t - but it would have...”

 

She sucks in a breath, bites down on her tongue before she makes a further fool of herself. To Oliver’s credit, he takes her anxious babbling in his stride. An amused smirk ghosts over his lips, lips that had just been on hers, swallowing her sighs and gasps and - 

 

Fuck. 

 

“Can’t say I’ve got full marks in anything before, I’m honoured,” Oliver muses thoughtfully, and the nerve-wracking tension drains out of her. If he’s joking, it means he’s not upset, uncomfortable, or God forbid, regretting it, is he?

 

Means there could be a chance he enjoyed it as much as she did? Just a little? 

 

She lets out a quiet laugh. “There’s always a first time for everything,” she agrees, the grip of fear and anxiety around her heart easing for the first time since their lips parted. 

 

She entertains the idea, briefly, momentarily, of a _different_ first time, without the veil of pretense between them, and she thinks that maybe they could work, for real. She touches a finger to her lips, letting her imagination run away from her. 

 

Maybe she’ll bring it up after the wedding. Like, go on a test-date or something when all of this is over. 

 

Maybe.

 

“Sorry we had to do that in front of Thea,” she murmurs, casting her eyes to Thea’s empty seat. “Can’t be that great seeing your brother make out with his girlfriend.” 

 

Oliver chuckles. “She orchestrated the whole thing, she can deal with it. Besides, it’s good for us that she did see it.” 

 

Felicity half-turns to Oliver, an eyebrow cocked. 

 

“I’m just saying, if Thea, my own _sister,_ bought that we’re in love and really dating from watching us, it means we’re solid, right? Tommy can’t think I’m still in love with Laurel after that. You really sold it.”

 

Reality crashes down on her. 

 

Sucks all the breath out of her lungs.

 

The tingly warmth that had lingered from their kiss dissipates and turns into ice in her veins as his words echo in a loop in her head. She’d told _herself_ it was all for show, sure, but hearing it from him, straight from his mouth that he’s still only doing this to prove a point to his best friend and his ex-girlfriend... 

 

The tightness in her chest comes rearing back, invisible hands clutching around her throat, squeezing the last shred of hope and maybes out of her. There’s a sense of finality about the way he says it - _you really sold it_ \- cementing the fact that they’re merely pretending, and none of this would ever happen in real life and _wow._

 

It really hurts.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave you guys a makeout session on the kisscam! xoxox
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	11. Chapter 11

Multitasking has never been something Oliver's been good at. Definitely not when he was younger - or else he wouldn't have been caught cheating as many times as he did - not something he's proud of, but facts were facts. He's better at it now, slightly, since he decided to clean up his act and stop being an idiot about the way he lives his life. 

 

But on some occasions, despite his personal emotional growth, he feels like he's regressed and he can't quite handle the multiple threads of thought simultaneously running through his head. Like tonight, for example, when he finds himself close to having an aneurysm as he flits back and forth between the following:  

 

He kissed Felicity. Undeniable, totally happened in front of everyone to see and Thea’s shown him the YouTube video. They looked really good together. Fact. 

   
He has feelings for Felicity. Also undeniable. What’s less clear, however, is what _kind_ of feelings they are, and honestly he doesn’t want to dissect them any further because he’s afraid of the conclusion he might come to. But still, fact. 

   
He’s currently, right now, at this very moment, curled up on his couch with Felicity in his arms, making out with her. Quite possibly a cruel, cruel, dream conjured up by his sadistic brain to torture him _... fact?_

 

Okay, to be fair, it's that last one that he can't wrap his head around and if this _is_ a dream, then he never wants to wake up. Ever. His body is responding to her in a way that is both entirely foreign and completely familiar at the same time. 

 

Every inch of him, from his hands that are under her oversized hoodie, gliding over the smooth skin of her back, down to his thighs, trapped underneath hers as she straddles him, sings with absolute delight, and yet despite all of this, he’s still not quite sure that any of it is _actually happening._

 

Their hips are pressed intimately together, her hands curved around his shoulders as she sweeps her tongue into his mouth, making downright filthy noises in the back of her throat.

 

He returns the favour, arching up beneath her, dragging his five o’clock shadow over her chin, smirking when it makes her groan and press even further into him. One of her hands leave his shoulder to dig into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

 

“You taste good,” she mumbles, catching his bottom lip between hers, and the lazy, languid quality of her voice makes him shiver with want. 

 

How the hell did they even get here? 

 

Two hours ago they’d been arguing with each other and now? He’s devouring her like he’s some unfortunate fool on death row and she’s his last meal.

 

Morbid. But it’s true. 

 

“Felicity... I think we should -” 

 

“Shh, busy,” she interrupts as she nuzzles his cheek, the tip of her nose nudging his so he tilts his head for her for easier access. “Don’t wanna think.”

 

Yeah, okay. 

 

She’d said the same thing before, when they were arguing, brandishing her tablet at him like some sort of weapon - not that she’d ever throw it at him, her aim is terrible and her tablet’s way too precious - but the point is, that this... _whatever’s_ happening right now is so _not_ how he thought his evening would unfold. 

* * *

 

_Two hours ago._

 

“So I told Ray that I’d present at this symposium thing on behalf of QC, and the arrogant bastard _insisted_ on footing the bill for -” 

 

“What’s Ray got to do with any of this?” Oliver interrupts, glowering, chewing on his burger a little harder than necessary. Why are they even talking about Ray Palmer, anyway? Friday night burgers are for them. Oliver, Felicity and Diggle. No Ray ‘Boy-scout’ Palmer allowed..

 

“Well, he _is_ the keynote speaker, and it’s being held at Palmer Tech” Felicity huffs, rolling her eyes. “I told you about this a week ago, keep up.” 

 

“Yeah, keep up, man,” Diggle chimes in unhelpfully, laughing into his burger. “I know all her techno-babble makes you tune out sometimes, but you really should pay attention when your girlfriend tells you things.” 

 

Oliver scowls at Diggle. “I pay attention. I’m a great boyfriend.” 

 

“Didn’t see you being a great boyfriend when Felicity was harassed at work over your game-day PDA,” Diggle points out. 

 

A flash of hurt and irritation courses through him and he drops his burger, sighing. Somehow, even though it had been public knowledge that he and Felicity were dating, when Felicity returned to work on Monday, she’d been the subject of a lot of unpleasant, unsavoury kiss-cam related jokes.

 

When he found out, he sent a company-wide email blast about the consequences of harassment, but it only when the day was almost over, since Felicity herself had decided on not telling him about any of it. Thea had been the one to alert him to the gossip, making him feel all sorts of incompetent and inadequate for not noticing that his girlfriend was being laughed at all damn day. 

 

“I didn't know about that, and I took care of it eventually, didn’t I?” he huffs. 

 

“Yes, he did. John, leave him alone,” Felicity tells him off, flicking a pickle at their friend. “Anyway, as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me,” she stares at Oliver pointedly. “Ray wanted to foot the bill for the trip, and that’s just unbelievably condescending, don’t you think?”

 

“The one in Central City?” he confirms. When Felicity nods, he sends a look to Diggle. Yeah, see? He listens.

 

“Does he think I can’t afford it? What kind of idiot is he? Which is besides the point anyway, since it’s all going to be comped by QC, and secondly -” 

 

“He wants to get into your pants,” Diggle offers, blinking innocently at her. Off Oliver’s sputter of protest, Diggle shrugs nonchalantly. “What, it’s true. She’s like billionaire catnip, even more so after you guys got together. Makes ‘em think she’s got a type.”  

 

 _“Hey!”_ Felicity hisses, hackles raised. “I’m not catnip,” she sulks. 

 

“Well, catnip or not, he’s not going to get in her pants, because she’s with _me,_ I’m her boyfriend,” Oliver mutters. The nerve of the guy! Just because Ray’s a better, smarter, more accomplished, CEO than he is doesn’t mean he has to be an arrogant prick about it.

 

He folds his arms over his chest, glaring at his burger. “Even if work doesn’t reimburse you for it, I’ll take care of it.” 

 

“ _Excuse_ me?” 

 

Oh. That’s... not a good tone. 

 

Oliver looks up from his burger and gulps at the expression on her face.

 

Her burger lies half-eaten, forgotten on her plate. She’s staring daggers at him and Diggle’s scooted over into the corner of the booth, squishing himself into the tiny space, as much as his bulk will allow, like he’s trying to disappear into the seat. 

 

“I literally just told you how condescending it was that Ray wanted to pay for my _business_ trip and here you are offering to do the exact same thing. There really is no difference between you billionaires, is there?

 

Wow, low blow. 

 

She’s comparing him to _Ray Palmer?_ And saying they’re the same kind of people? Oliver clenches his jaw, feels the familiar rush of irritation bubbling under his skin as he puts his own burger down and leans in towards her. 

 

“Ray and I are _not_ the same, and all I said was that -” 

 

She steamrolls over him. “In case you didn’t notice, I don’t need your money. Or Ray’s. I can pay my own way and if you think that just because you’re my boyfriend -” she makes a face at the word, which only reminds him that he really _isn’t_ her boyfriend, “- that means I’m going to leech off you like some kind of -” 

 

“I never said that!” Oliver snaps. “I _know_ you’re not that kind of person, which is more than I can say about what you think of _me,_ actually, so don’t go putting words in my mouth because you can’t handle someone wanting to do something nice for you, without any strings attached for once.” 

 

“Yeah, you’d know, wouldn’t you, being the king of no strings attached.” 

 

Her words feel like a slap right across his face and jerks backwards, shoulders slamming against the plasticky seat cushion. 

 

The panic-stricken look on Felicity’s face tells him that her word filter has failed her again and she didn't mean to say that out loud, but it does nothing to lessen the impact. 

 

“Oliver -”

 

“Yeah, you know what, I’m going to head home,” he mutters brusquely. 

 

He doesn’t know why her words sting so much, burning like acid over an open wound (he does, actually, but he’s afraid if he examines it any further it’s going to make things worse), so he bundles up his half-eaten burger in its wrapping and pushes his tray away from him. Best to get out of the situation before he does, or says something he regrets. 

 

Felicity’s dumbfounded expression nearly makes his change his mind, but he remains resolute and slides out of the booth, ignoring the way she’s biting down on her bottom lip and sending pleading looks to Diggle.

 

He tosses a couple of bills onto their table and shrugs into his jacket. “Diggle will take you home, I’ll get a cab.” 

 

He leaves the diner without another glance back.

* * *

Oliver scrolls through his unread text messages absent-mindedly when finally gets home. 

 

He’d forgone the cab and decided to walk instead, thinking the air and time would probably do him some good and it has. He’s less irritated, less annoyed, and a little guilty about the way he left things at the diner earlier. 

 

_The next time you leave me alone with an upset Felicity I’m going to punch you in the head._

 

Diggle, as it turns out. is infinite in his wisdom, but not so much with his patience for temper tantrums. Oliver responds instantly with an apology and a promise to make it up to him, before opening the next text message. 

 

_Why’s Felicity asking if you’re okay? Are you okay? What did you do, Ollie? Kiss and make up now._

 

Irritability surges through him at the thought that Felicity had gone an tattled to Thea - of all people - about him. She’s his sister! Shouldn’t Thea be on _his_ side? 

 

Yeah, but what _is_ his side? 

 

Oliver crashes into his couch heavily. There are no sides. 

 

He got annoyed by an off-handed remark Felicity made, overreacted, and then stormed off like a moody teenager. He wouldn’t be on his side either, now that he’s calmed down and managed to sift through the storm of his emotions swirling around in his head. 

 

 _I’m fine_ , he replies Thea. _Will work it out with Felicity._

 

His stomach gurgles loudly at that point, reminding him that he’d left the diner before finishing his burger and he’s contemplating ordering in when his doorbell rings.

 

And rings, and rings. 

 

It’s probably Thea, he thinks, groaning as he gets up from the couch. Coming over to blast him about screwing up with Felicity and whatever else she thinks he’s at fault for. 

 

The doorbell doesn’t ring again, and instead a series of short raps against his door echoes down the hallway. Oliver frowns at his sister’s impatience. Seriously? 

 

“Thea,” he sighs as he pulls his door open. “I swear I... you’re not Thea.” 

 

It’s Felicity at his door, wearing a hoodie she didn’t have on earlier, face tinged pink, lips pressed together, hand raised, poised for another round of obnoxious knocking. Her hair’s up in a messy ponytail, stray blonde strands hanging down the side her face. Her glasses are a little crooked like she’s taken them off and put them back on a few times and a pang of guilt slices right through him because he has no doubt he’s the cause of her disheveled appearance. 

 

“Not Thea, no.”

 

She elbows him out of the way, not waiting for an invitation to come inside. Marches right past him like she owns the place (she already owns his heart, but -) then turns around to face him. 

 

She has her tablet out for some reason, dangling by her side, and he blinks at her. “Were you just about to hack your way through my security system?” 

 

“So what if I was?” she snaps. “How could you just walk out on us like that?” she hisses, hand flying in exasperation. “You didn’t even let me apologise for what I said, and you know that I say the stupidest things when I’m -” 

 

“Did you just come over here to yell at me, Felicity?” He rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that’s been creeping into his bones the moment he greeted her at the door. “Because I’m tired and hungry and I really don’t want to argue with you right now.” 

 

“Well, too bad.” Her eyes flash dangerously, her jaw’s set with stubborn defiance and her lips are drawn thin, grim and unwavering. Ready for battle. 

 

It stokes a fire in him, seeing her so flared up. How is it that she’s the one picking fights with him when her words were the one that had set him off in the first place? 

 

If anything, he should be the one angry with _her_ for making false accusations and thinking that he’s still the dick he used to be, after all the time he’s spent trying _not_ to be him. He opens his mouth to say exactly that, but Felicity beats him to it.

 

“You don’t get to just walk away when you’re upset, not when I had to promise you not to do the same thing after last time,” she thunders, not quite with her Loud Voice yet but it’s nearly there. “You put John in a difficult position and that wasn’t fair to him either.” 

 

“I already apologised to John.” 

 

“Right,” she scoffs. “So _he_ got an apology but I -” 

 

“Felicity!” He takes a step towards her, narrowly avoiding her swinging tablet-armed hand. “ _You_ were the one who said I was, what was it? An _expert at no strings attached_ , which is insulting, and -” 

 

“It just slipped out! I didn’t mean it, and you _know_ that! It was only because you made me angry with your whole ‘can’t handle people doing nice things for me’ thing. I tried to say sorry but. You! Walked! Away!”  

 

And because he can, and because he’s also irrationally angry at her, he brushes past her, studiously ignoring her indignant glare as he goes back to his living room. 

 

He needs to put some space between them, because as fired up as she is, she’s still beautiful and still magnetic and he’s see-sawing between wanting to strangle her and pushing her up against his wall and kissing her senseless. 

 

“Don’t you walk away from me again, Oliver.”

 

She’s right on his heels, refusing to let him escape from the conversation. When he turns around, she’s mere inches from him, so close that she has to tilt her head up and back to look into his eyes. 

 

His jaw twitches, shoulders tense from trying not to reach out and shake some sense into her. 

 

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to stick around to hear all the things Ray Palmer and I have in common,” he growls, standing his ground. "The same guy you were so desperate to avoid that you decided to lie to everyone you know about having a boyfriend."

 

“Well, if the shoe fits, Mr. _‘I’m your boyfriend, so I’ll pay for whatever you need.’_ ”

 

“Jesus Christ, why is that even a thing with you? I was being _nice!_ Something I would have done, even if I weren’t your boyfriend.” 

 

“Well, you’re not.”  

 

“Wh - what?” 

 

The question escapes from his lips over a strangled breath, unbidden, because _yeah_ he knows he’s not. But he kind of is, to the rest of the world, so that counts for something, doesn’t it? From the look on Felicity’s face however, eyes narrowed, lips twisted in a less than friendly scowl, _she_ doesn’t think so. 

 

Heat flares under his skin, only he doesn't know if it’s from the building frustration at this entire unfortunate situation, or from the embarrassment of being caught unaware. 

 

“You’re not my boyfriend,” she repeats slowly, like she’s talking to a child. She waves a finger back and forth in the small space between them. “Remember? This is fake. We’re fake.”

 

“I _know_ that,” Oliver forces out between his clenched teeth, determined not to let the clawing sense of dread and doom creeping around his battered heart evident in his words. He mutters, “God, believe me, it’s unbelievably clear how fake we are.”

 

“Right, you seem to keep forgetting that though, don’t you? Even though this was your idea in the first place.” She narrows her eyes. “Maybe because _I really sold it_ to you too?”

 

“Felicity, that is not what -” He stops in his tracks at the vehemence in her voice, recognising the last part of her tirade as the very same phrase he used on her back at the baseball game. 

 

Was she mad about what he said that night too? 

 

At the mess of panic-induced words that had spilled from his lips after their breathtaking kiss? Because that was what it was for him; breathtaking, soul-stealing, and a bunch of other melodramatic adjectives Thea would laugh at him for, and when they’d pulled back, he’d straight out panicked at the fact that he’s just _made out with Felicity_ in public and that he’d enjoyed it. 

 

A lot.

 

Which of course led to the unfortunate word vomit that _he_ barely remembers but Felicity clearly does.

 

He lets that revelation sink in, slowly. What does it mean for them that she’s offended about what he said? He tries to remember if she had reacted poorly at the time, but comes up empty. 

 

Although, now that he’s really thinking about it, she did pull away _after_ that night. He hadn’t heard from her until late the next day, and even then, it was only because Thea alerted him to the crap Felicity was having to deal with at work. He’d been so incensed about the whole situation that he completely missed the fact that he’d gone an entire day without any communication with her. 

 

How had he not noticed that? 

 

“When I said that I just meant, I mean, uh,” he stumbles over his words, well-aware that if he puts his foot in his mouth again, he’d have more of a disaster in his hands. He licks his lips, nervous energy thrumming through his veins. 

 

He goes straight for the truth. “It was a stupid thing to say.” 

 

Later, he’ll realise that her stony silence wasn’t actually an indication of bubbling rage, quite the opposite, really, but right now, it makes him rush to explain himself. “I know we care about each other, Felicity. I didn’t mean to cheapen the experience at all. Or imply that everything about that night was just... for show.” 

 

“For what it’s worth, I... I got caught up in the moment and for one brief second, really thought we were together. I freaked out, then tried to convince myself that I wasn’t freaking out and... well.” 

 

Her eyes glaze over. “That one kiss made you forget that we were playing pretend?” 

 

“It was a good kiss,” he asserts, shrugging.

  

“Sometimes I think we’re really together too,” she tells him so quietly that if it weren't so deathly silent in his apartment, he wouldn’t have heard her. Felicity’s expression softens, losing most of the intensity that she’d aimed at him since she walked into his apartment. 

 

“Especially when you get all fussy about making sure I eat well, and sleep well, you drive me home when I’m tired and you get all jealous about Ray even though you have no reason to be...” She trails off without finishing her sentence, mouth snapping shut like her filter’s failed her again. 

 

He replays her rambling in his head, confused because of the complete 180 degree shift in her mood. Processing what she just said is difficult, with her right there within arm’s reach, dwarfed in that over-sized hoodie that looks seriously _cuddly,_ and the most perplexing expression on her face.

 

The anger is gone, replaced by what he can only interpret as bewilderment - like Felicity’s surprised _herself_ with her own babbling. 

 

“Look.” Oliver breaks their awkward silence. “I don’t think we should do this - whatever this is - while we’re both worked up,” he grinds out. He steps backwards to put some much needed space between them. “Actually, I think -” 

 

Then, before he knows what’s happening, he loses his train of thought because her hands are on his chest, both of them, flat, spread out over his pecs. Her eyes are bright, the vein in her forehead pulsing the same way it does when she’s finally figured out the solution to a particularly hard problem. 

 

And it appears that the problem she’s solving this time, is _him_. 

 

She sighs, shakes her head, then bites down on her lip as if she’s fighting some internal battle with herself. Her hands drag upwards in an infinitesimally small movement - he wouldn’t have noticed if his eyes weren’t fixated on the bright purple of her nails, open wide, unblinking in his surprise. 

 

“You know, it has occurred to me that every time we _think_ about things _-”_ Felicity drawls in a low, husky voice, drumming her fingers against his chest. It forces him to look up from her nimble fingers to her face instead. She’s all coy and ruminative and quite obviously cooking up some sort of plan in that genius brain of hers.  “- we end up fighting.” 

 

He knows better than to question it, but the change in her mood is highly suspicious so he treads carefully, choosing his words wisely.

 

“I - okay?” 

 

Mmhm. _Great_ choices.

 

“We get into a fight, then I walk away, or you walk away. One of us chases the other. And then we don’t talk about it. Ever. Kind of annoying, when you think about it - which, really is my point. We think too much. I didn’t give myself any time to think with the um, kiss cam. And that... that was nice."

 

“Ye-yeah. That was nice.” He barely gets the acknowledgment out of his mouth. 

 

It doesn't escape his notice that this is the first time they’re talking about the kiss, just them, alone, with no one watching them so that they have to keep up appearances. It's gnawed at him from the inside for days. Sure, Thea forwarded them the videos from social media, and sure, he’s seen all the photos that were splashed all over the newspapers but actually talking about it with her? 

 

 

Nope. Not a word. 

 

And if this is going to be the only opportunity he has to acknowledge it, he's going to make it count. He clears his throat so that there's no way she can misinterpret how he feels about their kiss. “ _'Made me forget we were playing pretend'_ level of nice, remember?”

 

 "Right. No _thinking_ from you too." 

 

Living the last six weeks as her pretend boyfriend has made him pretty well-versed in Felicity’s penchant to go off-tangent, but following this particular one is threatening to give him a complex because if she’s implying what he _thinks_ she’s implying... 

 

His heart is pounding so hard, Felicity probably can feel it under her palms. His ears are buzzing, and his entire body is thrumming with something he’s hasn’t allowed himself to feel before when it came to their relationship. 

 

Anticipation. Hope.

 

“So, I _don’t_ wanna think right now.” Her voice drips like milk and honey, sweet, deeper than usual. He watches with increased interest as her eyes drop down to his lips, then immediately shoots back up, teasing. 

 

“About anything. At all.” 

 

Her lips are on his before he’s really ready for her, both soft and demanding at the same time. He moves on instinct, sliding his hands around her waist as he allows her to take the lead, parting his lips when her tongue probes for entrance. 

 

It’s just as exhilarating as their first kiss, just as _precious,_ only this time he already knows what she tastes like and he knows that she likes it when he runs his tongue along her bottom lip, and that when he grazes his teeth over the supple flesh it makes her shiver in his arms so he does exactly that, in that order and - .

 

God, she’s _ruined_ him for anyone else. 

 

She gasps and groans against him, breathy little noises that are fast becoming his favourite sounds in the entire world and his eyes slam shut, savouring them. Pure instinct leads him to navigate them blindly towards his couch. Her tiny hands slide up under his shirt, nails tracing nonsensical patterns on his skin, waves of heat and want rippling out from every point of contact. 

 

Eyes still shut, and desperate to follow her orders (he’ll follow her anywhere), he doesn’t waste a moment second guessing himself before sucking her tongue into his mouth, tangling his own with it, eliciting a surprised whimper of need from her. 

 

He falls backwards once he feels the edge of his couch against his calves, taking her along with him, lips parting for a second as they re-adjust their positions and then he’s craning his neck back up at her and she’s leaning down and he’s right back where he belongs - with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love everyone, I hope this (and every future chapter) live up to all your expectations! 
> 
> xoxo
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning afters are fun!

When Felicity wakes up, it’s not to the customary blaring of her alarm playing the Imperial March from across her room forcing her to get out of bed and walk over to silence it. Instead, she wakes up feeling trapped under a tangle of heavy blankets, burning up from the stifling heat. 

 

“What the hell?” 

 

It takes her an entire minute of battling with the blankets, finally just kicking her way out from under them, to remember how exactly she got into that predicament. 

 

Her fingers brush absentmindedly over the still-present beard burn around her mouth, blushing as she remembers the way she practically pounced on Oliver when Diggle dropped her off the night before. There’d been kissing (after the fighting). Lots of it. Which led to straddling Oliver on his couch, then falling asleep at some point after even more kissing. 

 

It wasn’t like she had planned on making out with him when she barged into his place. In fact, she had had every intention to properly ream him out for being a grumpy asshole and having the nerve to walk out on her and Diggle at Big Belly like an overgrown child throwing a tantrum. 

 

Which she did, at first. But she’s stubborn, and Oliver has his own special brand of pig-headedness that drives her up the wall so naturally they started arguing. Then that _look_ crossed his face, the one that she’s seeing more and more of recently; the clenched jaw and furrowed brows, his stupidly sad eyes full of hopeless resignation as he tells her how _unbelievably clear_ it is that they’re not really together and it - 

 

It resonated with her. 

 

Right in her soul, because how many times since his devastating _‘you really sold it_ ’ has she tried to convince herself that she’s perfectly fine with their status quo? That being his pretend girlfriend wasn’t doing a number on her heart, torturing herself like pressing down on a bruise on purpose despite knowing the pain that will come along with it. 

 

When he admitted that he believed for a brief moment that they _were_ really together and with him standing in front of her, quite literally trembling under the weight of their argument, it dawned upon her that her unrequited crush wasn’t as unrequited as she thought. Because Oliver, in all his 6-foot-whatever glory, looked like he just had his heart shattered and he wouldn't feel that way, unless there was something _to_ feel in the first place. 

 

_Right?_

 

And really, it’s not her fault that Oliver tends to look his best (peak! hotness!) when he’s exuding this combination of sad and annoyed and frustrated, all tense and muscley, and so _kissable_ that she decided to throw caution to the wind and just _finally_ give in. 

 

She doesn’t even remember what she said after that, entirely caught up with the idea of kissing him again, this time without the stress and pressure of an entire stadium watching them. Whatever it was, it succeeded in convincing him that it was a good idea and the rest of the night - she runs the pads of her fingers over her slightly chapped lips, blushing at the memory of how they got that way - as they say, was history. 

 

Speaking of...

 

“Oliver?” 

 

She gets off the couch that they’d fallen asleep in (together) the night before, stretching as she does so, shaking the last vestiges of slumber from her limbs. Oliver is nowhere to be seen but she’s not too concerned - this is _his_ apartment after all. 

 

She stands in the middle of his living room, eyes wandering over the space with heightened interest. In all their time spent as a fake - or not so fake anymore maybe, her brain supplies - couple, she’s never been to his place. They always hang out at hers for their weekly 'dates' because she has the more superior entertainment system, so this is the first time she’s had the chance to have a proper look around.

 

Seeing as how she was far too preoccupied with other things last night.  

 

His flat screen is of an acceptable size, she notes as she does a slow walk through of the room. There are a few business magazines strewn on top of his coffee table, mixed in with a couple of health ones. The decor is what she’d call minimalist modern, all sharp edges and neutral hues, quite unlike her place, which is a mess of colour and clutter with no particular theme, and it makes her wonder what he thinks of her space. 

 

She pivots on her heels, taking in the two closed doors that probably lead to bedrooms, and the kitchen that’s separated from the living area by a large marble-top island. It’s not a large apartment by any means, and it’s unexpectedly neat for what is, for all intents and purposes, a bachelor pad. 

 

“Oliver?” she calls out again, louder, meandering towards the kitchen. He’s got to have coffee somewhere, doesn’t he? She nearly trips over her shoes - hastily removed the night before to ease her journey as she clambered up (climbed!) Oliver in her haze of lust and desire. Her hand shoots out to steady herself against the corner of the island and that’s when she spots it. 

 

Her eyes fall upon a row of pretty picture frames, just underneath a very well-loved spice rack. The first one is of the Queen family, and old one, she presumes, since both of Oliver’s parents are in it. The second is of a much younger Oliver and Thea, pulling adorable faces at each other, which makes her own face crack into a fond smile. But the third photo is the one that had initially caught her eye. 

 

It’s a picture of _them_ , of him and her, at Verdant on the first night of their charade, a night that feels both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. She picks up the frame with careful fingers, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

 

It’s beautiful despite neither one of them looking directly at the camera. Instead, they’re both grinning at each other, oblivious to whoever’s taking the photo. He’s taken off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders and she has one hand curled tightly around his forearm, the other plastered over his shoulder, leaning into him for support. She remembers how tipsy she’d been at the end of that night and purses her lips at the reminder. 

 

It’s a lovely photo of them; the perfect image of a couple in love. The thought is fleeting, but it still manages to elicit a huff of laughter from her because _of course,_ even on their first night pretending, they already looked like they belonged together. Her finger traces over the picture, wondering idly why Oliver never showed it to her. 

 

“I uh, have that to keep up appearances when Thea visits.”

 

She jumps, actually _jumps_ , hips bumping into the edge of the counter, at the sound of his voice, the precious frame slipping out of her fingers. She watches in slow-motion, jaw agape, eyes wide with horror as it tumbles down, only to have Oliver’s hand appear out of nowhere to rescue it before it hits the ground. 

 

So he’s got great reflexes too. Great. Awesome. How perfect can one guy even be? 

 

She feels him straighten up behind her, all hot and sturdy, crowding her against the counter, one hand on her hip, massaging the exact spot that she’d hurt herself against as he places the frame back where it belongs. 

 

“You need to stop doing that, seriously,” Felicity grumbles once she’s caught her breath. "Or wear a bell."

 

"Mm, kinky." 

 

She turns around scandalized, gasping, then swallowing _hard_ the moment she sees him because, yeah, he’s right there, clearly fresh out of a shower, shirtless, damp hair sticking out in every direction. His eyes are twinkling with amusement and he’s chuckling at her, which only draws her eyes towards his chest - pecs - abs - so many abs, wow. 

 

“Thank you?” Oliver laughs at her obvious word vomit.

 

“Shut up,” she snaps, heat colouring her cheeks. “I'm barely awake. You can't just attack me with all of that,” she waves her hands at his _everything,_ scrunching her face up. “It’s not fair.”

 

With great effort, she drags her gaze away from his body, finally noticing just how close they are to each other. He has his hands on either side of her, trapping her against the kitchen counter and she can smell the lingering scent of his shampoo, or soap or whatever it is that he used in the shower, blanketing her in a nice thick layer of Oliver-ness. 

 

_Hngh._

 

“Let me try this again. Hi, Felicity. Good morning.” Oliver’s voice drops into a low rumble, and if she thought last night had been enough to satisfy her churning need for him, boy was she wrong. There’s no way she’s had enough of him, if the tingle of awareness that’s spreading from her toes all the way up to her neck is any indication. 

 

His forehead brushes against hers, and on their own accord, her hands curve around his waist just along the waistband of the low slung sweats he has on. His skin runs a little hot; whether it’s been warmed up from his shower or just from his natural body heat, she doesn’t know, but it feels good. Really good. 

 

“Hi-i,” she croaks, and then immediately groans because wow. That’s sexy, Felicity, sounding like a half-dead frog first thing in the morning. She clicks her tongue, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before trying again. 

 

“Good morning, Oliver.” Much better. 

 

“Mm. Good morning indeed,” he smiles against her lips, not seeming to care that she’s sleep-worn and disheveled and still in last night’s clothes. She feels his fingers creep under her hoodie, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her hip bone. 

 

“Can we not think about things some more?” 

 

Actually, they _should_ probably talk about whatever’s happening between them, the rational part of her mind tells her. They’re breaking every single rule they’ve set out between them, playing with fire, most definitely not selling anything to anyone, and not _pretending_ about anything at all, which probably will end up exploding in their faces sooner or later. 

 

But when Oliver grins at her, all hopeful and adorable, dipping his head as he pecks at her lips so sweetly, all she can think about is how different his beard feels against her skin after a shave compared to how it felt last night. 

 

How good it feels to have him pressing into her, gentle and insistent at the same time. How nice it is to wake up an be able to fool around with a fine, _fine_ specimen such as Oliver Queen. 

 

Hm. 

 

“Yeah, okay, no thinking,” she hums eventually, hopping up onto the island. Oliver chases after her, bracketing her body with his arms. She curls her own around his neck and hooks her legs around his waist.

 

“Thinking Is overrated anyway.” 

* * *

 

“I like this picture of us.” 

 

Oliver half-turns to Felicity, keeping one eye on the sizzling pan of bacon on his stove. Felicity’s handling the picture of them again, the one from Verdant, and his heart swells. 

 

“It’s nice, yeah. Got it off a contact of mine at the papers.” 

 

She hums, a quiet, pleasing sound, and it brings a smile to his lips. He turns back to stove, turning the heat down just as the telltale click of her phone’s camera go off. Felicity putters around behind him and he hears her sliding a drawer open before a pair of tongs appear next to him, the metal ends snapping at his fingers.

 

“They look super crispy, you know I don’t like them super crispy,” she whines, cheek pressing against his bicep as she nudges her way to the front of the stove to stare at the pan critically.

 

Oliver huffs, allowing her to snag a piece of bacon before he takes the tongs from her and gently pushes her away. Her track record around kitchen appliances is abysmal and he’s not leaving anything up to chance, especially with brunch at stake. “They’re not. What do you take me for? I know how you like them."  

 

He pulls a plate from the shelf overhead and transfers the bacon from the pan onto it before Felicity can steal more. "Here you go, all yours.” 

 

Felicity takes the plate from him with a cheerful, “Ooh, yay!” and shuffles over to his living room.  

 

The domesticity of the moment doesn’t escape him, but it feels so fragile, like newly spun glass and he’s afraid if he even acknowledges it, or calls even the slightest bit of attention to it, it’s going to shatter into a million pieces. 

 

“Felicity, don’t forget the -” 

 

“Placemats, I know, I know. Weirdo.” 

 

He picks up an apple for himself before following her to the living room, unable to fathom a meal that consists of just bacon and coffee, even if Felicity seems to be perfectly fine with it. 

 

They eat in silence, Felicity handing him pieces of bacon whenever she feels generous, passing the time by checking their emails and text messages on their phones. The TV is playing in the background, but it’s mostly white noise, neither one really paying attention to what’s on the screen.

 

It’s both strange and _so_ domestic, but even stranger still, is how Oliver really, really doesn’t mind any of it at all. 

 

“You know, this is the first time I’ve been to your place,” Felicity says when she’s finished eating, returning her plate to the coffee table in front of them, making a show of centering it on the place mat. She stretches her neck, rolling it between her shoulders before settling back into his couch. “You’re always at mine, but I’ve never been here.” 

 

He swallows a gulp of coffee, studying her face as he wonders if her words mean something other than what she’s saying. When he decides that it’s too hard to figure her out, he asks point blank, “Is that a problem?”

 

He pulls her bare feet up into his lap in a move that’s become all too familiar between them. At her answering groan of content, he starts massaging her foot, digging into her muscles the way she likes it.

 

“No, not really,” Felicity chews thoughtfully before continuing. “But it’s kinda weird that we’re dating but we only spend time at my place, right? John probably thinks it’s weird. And maybe Thea too? But I... I personally don’t mind.” 

 

He spends an embarrassing amount of time than on the fact that Felicity mentions the word ‘dating’ without qualifiers, not _‘fake dating’_ or _‘pretend dating’_ and suddenly the little seed of hope that had been planted around in his chest during make out session number two starts to sprout. 

 

“I don’t mind it either,” he says eventually. “I like your place.” 

 

He lets his hand glide up her calf, preening a little when Felicity lets out a whimper of satisfaction. She wiggles the toes of her other foot, demanding equal attention, and he chuckles at her predictability. She’s never been shy about how much she likes his foot massages, and he’s only happy to oblige whenever she wants one. 

 

His hands move on autopilot, kneading her supple flesh, and he wonders idly if this is what his life would look like if they abandoned what truly is the dumbest plan he’s ever cooked up in his entire life and just gave in to the mutual attraction simmering between them.

 

There’s been way too much kissing in the space of the last twelve hours that indicates that his feelings aren’t entirely one sided, and as much as he loathes the idea of never doing that again, he also hates the fact that he doesn't understand what’s going on between them. 

 

But then, does he really want to ruin this really nice moment by bringing up this unspoken thing between them? He frowns, cautiously glancing at Felicity, still engrossed in her phone, as he contemplates the outcome of that scenario. 

 

It could backfire on him, send her running in the opposite direction and screw everything up. 

 

 _Or_ it could go extremely well and they can _keep_ kissing and making out and whoa, okay, he really, really wants that - the thought of _being with her_ just builds and builds until his heart feels like it’s about to explode, so he just blurts out, “Hey, Felicity, are we still not thinking?”

 

And then he slaps himself mentally because wow, does that sound dumb. He’s a grown man, he should be able to have actual, well-structured conversations with the woman he’s interested in and not have to resort to vague metaphorical statements. 

 

Good job, Oliver. 

 

“What I mean to - what I’m asking is, if we’re... not pretending anymore?” There. Not much better, but more specific and less childish. 

 

Felicity goes still at his question, slowly pulling her legs out of his hands. Her face is an indecipherable mask of indifference, and in that split second, a pit of dark, murky dread forms in his stomach. 

 

“Not pretending that we're dating?”

 

He shifts, putting a little space between them on the couch so he can turn to face her. “Yes,” he says with false confidence. “Because what happened last night and this morning before breakfast felt pretty real to me and I want to know if you felt the same.” 

 

His words dangle between them, heavy and poignant, until Felicity clears her throat, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Uncertainty - and it strikes him that yeah, he’s so familiar with her mannerisms that he knows what uncertainty looks like on her now - flickers over her face for a brief moment and her she tilts head to the side, chewing on her bottom lip. 

 

“Well.” She sounds just as jittery as he feels so maybe he’s not the only one a little out of depth here. Her fingers twist together in her lap, bright green nail polish glinting in the sunlight filtering through his window. 

 

“It felt real to me, yeah,” she finally says. “And... right now, this is kinda nice. I like this.”

 

Oliver decides that he likes it when she’s uncertain. It’s a marked difference from her usual demeanour; cool and calm, all gung-ho and take charge in the office. She fiddles with her glasses, adjusts them on the bridge of her nose like she needs something to distract herself with. 

 

“Did you - you like this too, right?” she checks, pouting just a little. 

 

She stretches her foot out again, toes digging into the side of his thigh, trying to get a reaction from him. “Okay, I know you do, or at least I know you like all the kissing, because you were, _we_ were, super into it, and we kinda just like, fell asleep on this couch. Together.” Her toes start tapping incessantly against him.

 

Then her forehead wrinkles and her voice drops and he doesn’t think it was possible but the words fly out of her mouth even faster. 

 

“But then I woke up, and you weren’t here, which makes sense, duh, because this is your place and you have a bed, and it doesn't mean that you didn’t -” 

 

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, sensing the nervous tension coursing through her. He spreads his fingers over her legs again, stilling her movements, a burst of hope fluttering under his skin because Felicity isn’t running, and she isn’t saying _no_ to the idea of them, and that means that maybe they _are_ done pretending with each other.

 

“I did - I _am_ enjoying this.” He makes sure to look directly at her when he tells her not willing to risk her misunderstanding anything. “I love spending time with you, and if you’re... willing? I’d really like to give _not pretending_ to be a couple a shot.” 

 

Swathed in her hoodie, hands folded on her lap as she scrutinises him, Oliver can’t help but feel like she’s looking right into his soul. He stumbles over himself to clarify, "

 

He’s literally laid all his cards out on the table before her and there’s a chance he’s made a colossal mistake and screwed up. He’s not sure if he managed to get his intentions across, and as the seconds tick by without a word from either of them, suddenly all he can think of is how important she’s become to him in the short time they’ve known one another.

 

How he’s come to rely on their daily morning commute to work, with her babbling in his ear about some new tech development she’s learned about or whatever episode of television she’s just watched. How he looks forward to the text messages she sends him throughout the day, and especially the ones she sends during the painstakingly boring meetings that he’s always subjected to. Or the ones with advice she doles out so graciously when he finds himself struggling with running Queen Consolidated. 

 

He shudders at the thought of losing all of that. Losing her. He can’t, no, he won’t. If the idea of them being together scares her so much, then he can deal - he can live with being her friend. It’s enough. He’ll make it enough. 

 

He chokes down the bitter tinge of regret on his tongue. Sucks in a breath. “You know what, just forg-” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

Wait. 

 

He blinks once. Twice. Repeats the word just in case his mind is playing a cruel trick on him. “O... Okay?” 

 

Her answering smile is dazzling.

 

She closes the distance between them on her hands knees, looking every bit as adorable as she is sexy in her hoodie. “Did I stutter?” she drawls, lifting a leg, then her hips, and then he finds himself with an armful of warm, soft, positively purring Felicity. 

 

“I’ve been pretty clear how much I enjoy all of this,” she murmurs, leaning in so her nose brushes the tip of his. “So, yes, Oliver. I’m _willing.”_

 

Her lips twist like she’s mocking him and any other time, he’d be mildly affronted, but not now. Not when her fingers are sliding up his hands and over his shoulders, then tugging on the collar of the shirt he’s regretting he put on earlier. He leans into her so their lips meet in a sweet kiss and Felicity hums, mumbles her approval as she nips along the corner of his mouth. He suspects that she rather enjoys the way his stubble grazes over her skin and who's he to deny her such little pleasures? He rubs his cheek over hers, then bands his arms tightly around her and twists so he falls lengthwise onto the couch with Felicity looming over him. 

 

She leans down to kiss him again, this time it's without any pretenses between them, not a single thing that’s fake about the way they’re groaning into each other. He lets out a growl, bucking up as he resituates her on his lap. 

 

“Thank God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't notice before today, but this baby has hit 200+ comments and wow guys. Wow. Thank you. I'm terrible at responding to them, so I apologise, but please know that every single thought, reaction and criticism that has come my way is very much appreciated and I love you all so damn much.
> 
> I am, however, a lot more responsive on Twitter: @griever_11


	13. Chapter 13

 “Something’s different about you,” Sara drawls as sits down across from Felicity, two cups of coffee in hand. Jitters is busier than usual for a weekday evening and but they’ve managed to squeeze themselves at a table in the corner of the cafe, nice and cosy. “You’re... sunnier.” 

 

Felicity turns her nose up, rolling her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense, and if I seem different, it’s only because you’ve been away for like, _ever._ ” 

 

Sara’s new job as a stunt double to the stars has her traipsing around the country wherever the movie shoots take her and the last time she saw her friend had been that night at Verdant with everyone else. Fortunately for Felicity, Sara’s back for Tommy and Laurel’s wedding and staying for a little longer after that, which Felicity really appreciates. It’s been a while since they caught up and she misses her friend.

 

With the whole _pretend to be with Oliver_ fiasco that had taken over her life over the past two months, her other friendships have fallen into neglect and it makes her feel like a bad friend. 

 

“Yeah, fair, I’ve been gone. But you’re... _you._ You go to work, come home, do boring, nerdy things, rinse and repeat.” Sara pushes one of the cups towards her with a tilt of her head as if that will take the sting out of her words. “You've had same routine since you became a hot shot at QC. So _spill,_ Felicity. What’s gotten you all _glowy?”_

 

Felicity can't help feeling miffed at the picture that Sara paints; one of a really boring Felicity who just... works and does nothing else otherwise. It’s scarily similar to what the gossip rags and tabloids used to write about her before Oliver and if someone who she considers a _friend_ thinks the same thing then what that does that _really_ say about her?  

 

Her mood darkens. 

 

“I do more than that, you know,” she tells Sara indignantly. “I’m on the board of a few charities and we do amazing things for the kids in the Glades, and I go out for dinner with friends...” Felicity falters because she can't actually remember the last time she had dinner with someone who wasn't Oliver or Diggle. She changes tracks.“And I was at Verdant that one time which wasn't boring or nerdy. You were there. I even got a hangover.” 

 

Sara nods sympathetically. “Uh huh, okay. I remember. That was when you and Ol- oh, wait a sec, _damn,_ is this - _Oliver’s_ doing?” Her eyes brighten and she drags her chair forward noisily to sit up straighter. “Are you glowing because of Oliver? You guys are still together, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Felicity answers quickly. Her cheeks heat up as she recalls the feeling of his coarse stubble ghosting over her lips. “I mean, _no_ I’m not glowing because of Oliver. Yes, we’re still together.” 

 

“Wow. This has got to be the longest relationship he’s been in since Laurel,” Sara remarks. “Good for Ollie.” 

 

 _It’s only been two days,_ Felicity wants to tell her. Only two days, but they’ve taken to the change in their relationship rather well. Mostly because the only thing that _has_ changed is that there’s now a lot more kissing involved. A lot. 

 

She clears her throat and forces a smile onto her face. “Yeah, well. He’s not the same guy he was then anymore.” 

 

“Clearly, since _you’re_ dating him. Remember when we were kids and he hated you? How times have changed.”

 

It’s meant to be an off-handed remark, an unassuming comment that shouldn’t mean anything, but it doesn't sit well with Felicity, making her uneasy. Hate is a rather strong word after all. Plus, being Laurel’s sister means Sara knew Oliver a lot better than Felicity did back then so her opinion about him carried some weight.

 

Did Oliver really _hate_ her back then? 

 

No. Felicity shoves the burgeoning doubt down, deep down, and away. The past is the past, and she knows Oliver. _This_ Oliver. That’s all that matters. 

 

Except that she hates _not knowing_ things.

 

“Why do you say he hated me?” Felicity decides to poke the sleeping bear. Stokes the embers of a fire she’s not sure she can control. “I didn’t know him well enough in school to have _any_ sort of feelings for him so it’s interesting that you think he had such strong ones for me.”

 

Sara narrows her eyes at Felicity. She brings her elbows to rest on the table, cupping her chin as she hums under her breath. “Don’t go there, Felicity.” The warning tone in her voice is enough to pique her interest though, and now she’s just plain curious.   

 

“I just want to know, that’s all,” Felicity says as she feigns nonchalance. “Oliver and I are solid, I promise.”

 

“I don’t -”

 

“Just tell me, please?” 

 

“Okay, look, hate was the wrong word to use,” Sara sighs, defeated. “It was forever ago, so it shouldn’t matter. I guess at some point when you two were lab partners or when you were tutoring him or whatever, Laurel and her friends started... teasing Oliver about hanging out with you.” 

 

“Teasing Oliver?” 

 

“You know, stuff like how he needed a kid’s help to get through school, how he’s hanging out with the nerd of the class; stupid, dumb, mean high school girl crap. I remember Ollie arguing about Laurel about it a lot.”

 

“That’s why he turned into such a jerk,” Felicity mumbles quietly. “He wanted to look cool for Laurel and hanging out with me was cramping his style.”

 

Conveniently left _that_ out in his letter to her, didn’t he? 

 

He wrote about how he was intimidated by her, jealous about how smart she was and how she made him feel inadequate. He never said that his pettiness stemmed from wanting to impress _Laurel._

 

Interesting. 

 

Sara, to her benefit, looks utterly guilt-ridden, fingers clenching and unclenching nervously on the table top. She reaches out to cover Felicity’s hand with hers. 

 

“Hey, that was such a long time ago. Like you said, Oliver isn’t the same person anymore, and neither are you. Don’t let the past change your future.”  

 

She’s right. _Of course s_ he’s right. Oliver’s sweet and amazing and there’s not a single trace of the douchebag he used to be in the way he acts now. She curses at her own insecurities for allowing even the slightest hint of doubt cloud her convictions about him. 

 

Felicity shakes off the melancholy feeling creeping around her heart, remembers the way Oliver had bid her goodbye that morning, sending her off with a kiss that almost changed her mind about coming out to meet Sara. Felicity smiles back at her friend, flipping her hand over and giving Sara’s a reassuring squeeze. 

 

“I won’t. It won’t. But thanks for telling me anyway.”

 

“Well, you asked,” Sara grumbles. “Can’t say no to that cute face of yours, can I?” She flips her hair, leans back and folds her arms over her chest. 

 

Determination replaces the worry, a sly grin spreading over her face. “Now that that’s out of the way, you and Oliver. Spill. We can compare notes, even.”

 

Felicity nearly chokes on her coffee.  

* * *

 

Oliver spends a good five minutes standing outside Felicity’s door, debating with himself about the news he’s about to break to her. No, he’s not scared of her, exactly, but Felicity’s Loud Voice is a thing of wonder and he would really rather not have it directed at him.

 

He watched her express her displeasure at one of her department managers last week - well deserved, since the man had caused a critical error in one of her programs, and he swears the man walked out of Felicity’s office about to piss in his pants. 

 

Not pretty. 

 

The point is that Oliver’s hesitating because his night could go either one of two ways when he tells her: extremely well, with him spending the night, or he’ll be back where he is right now, staring at this door, most likely after she’s slammed it in his face. 

 

And then said door opens, and Oliver’s face to face with Felicity, bare faced and beautiful, in a thin tank top and loose penguin-patterned pajama pants. She’s holding a tub of ice-cream in her hand, the other on the door knob as she tilts her head curiously at him. He’s probably interrupted her watching something on her TV if the slightly irritated flare in her eyes is any indication. 

 

“Why are you just standing there like a weirdo?” 

 

“I um...” He huffs nervously. He forgot she has security cameras installed at her door. “Can I come in?” 

 

Felicity steps back, pulling her door open. “Kinda late,” she murmurs, but she’s smiling and he’s pretty sure there’s an extra sway in her hips as she saunters back to her living room so she’s clearly not upset with his visit. “My flight’s really early tomorrow.” 

 

Ah. Perfect opening.

 

“About that,” Oliver starts, shedding his coat, hanging it on the hooks behind her door as he shuts it, keying in the seven-digit code for her alarm system by heart. “The symposium, I mean. Not your flight.” 

 

“It’s just for a couple of days, don’t worry.” Her voice carries through her apartment as she walks back to her living room. Undecipherable noise fills the apartment as Felicity resumes whatever she’s watching and his heart expands with fond adoration at the fact that he’s got her night-time routine down so well. 

 

“It’s not that...” He joins her on the couch, taking up his usual spot at the end, lifting her feet and placing them on his lap. “I’m...” Just say it. The quicker he gets to it, the faster he can deal with the fallout. 

 

“I’m coming with you.” 

 

“You’re what?” she asks sharply, hand curling around her remote, finger jamming on the mute button. She pulls her legs out of his lap and turns to him. Her eyes are narrowed at him dangerously. 

 

“I promise this has absolutely nothing to do with... whatever you’re thinking about that’s making your eye twitch like that,” he clarifies quickly, flashing back to that particularly unpleasant argument about his and Ray’s billionaire privilege. “I’m not being overbearing or um, like Ray trying to pay for you or - y’know. All that. Walter wanted me to go.”

 

“To the _technology_ symposium. You.” 

 

He doesn’t blame her for sounding skeptical. It’s so far out of his comfort zone that he spent a good hour trying to convince Walter to send someone else, but to no avail. And he tells Felicity exactly that. 

 

“He thinks us going together puts up a good front. Future CEO and young, upcoming superstar Felicity Smoak, power couple of QC... his words, not mine,” he says. “He says it would endear us to the investors.”  

 

“Whaddya know, Walter’s got some tricks up his sleeve, it seems.” She doesn’t sound upset, her voice isn’t anywhere near Loud Voice level, and Oliver lets out a breath, relieved. 

 

“So... you’re okay with this?” he double checks. “Me coming with you to Central City?” 

 

Felicity rolls her eyes. She closes the space between them, lifting one leg over his lap so she’s straddling him. She drags a finger along the crease in his forehead, trailing a path of heat as she does.

 

“What were you gonna do if I wasn’t okay with it? Walter’s your boss too, it’s not like you could just say no.”

 

It's not a particularly enthusiastic response, but he hadn't expected one anyway. He's wary about appearing at the event just as much as he thinks she is, but she's not angry and he'll take the win. "I won't steal your thunder, I promise. All I'll do is stand around and look pretty and let you do all the impressing and awe-ing and it'll be fine. You'll see." 

 

"You have to stop selling yourself short, Oliver," Felicity chastises him, sliding her hands around and interlocking them behind his neck. "You're great at what you do, how many times do I have to tell you for you to start believing me?" 

 

"Maybe just one more time," he whispers, grinning. His hands start sliding up the side of her thighs, more interested in the little breathy sounds she makes when he's feeling her up than talking about his own shortcomings. She shivers under his touch, and he's preens at the knowledge that she’s just as susceptible to his touch as he is to hers. 

 

“Oh, Walter also told me he upgraded your room to a suite for the both of us.” He leans back to wiggle his eyebrows at her, not at all trying to hide the implication of what he's saying. "Bet the bed's pretty big." 

 

Felicity’s mouth falls open, her fingers stilling in their journey down his chest. “Oh wow, that’s nice of him. Work's going to pay for us to mess around in bed.” Her eyes are gleaming playfully and she’s so close that he can’t help leaning forward to capture her bottom lip between his.  

 

He really loves being able to kiss her now. Any time he wants. For no reason. Felicity whimpers, a beautiful, magical sound in his ears.

 

She presses herself closer into him, slanting her face to give him better access. She rubs her nose along the scruff peppering the side of his face like she’s sniffing him and her fingers travel back up to curl caress the side of his neck and then she's pulling, and of course he follows her lead. Chases her down with another kiss, savouring her on his tongue. 

 

“Gotta sleep,” she whispers, in between heavy breaths, forehead against his. She pushes away from him gently. “Early flight,” she repeats with disappointment, pouting a little. 

 

“Or, maybe we can get on a later one?” she wonders, bumping her nose against his, teasing him with a sultry, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

Oliver groans. Loudly. They haven’t been able to do anything more than a fool around on their respective couches and share a few very memorable makeout sessions since the shift in their relationship, so yeah, he understands where she’s coming from. 

 

For once in his life, however, Oliver finds that he’s okay with it. Maybe even appreciates that he’s taking it slower than usual with Felicity. 

 

She’s special. And she deserves better than some quickie fueled by lust and wanton need. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing her hair out of her face. He kisses the tip of her nose. “We have time. Plenty.” 

 

“Ugh, time is overrated.” Felicity climbs off him, stretching when her feet finds the floor, making her tank top ride up her stomach to reveal a tantalising strip of creamy skin that he really, really wants to run his tongue over. 

 

_Later._

 

Oliver knows he has a dopey smile on his face, watching her as she goes through the motions of settling in for the night, but he doesn’t care. Felicity grabs her phone, turns her television off and then arches an eyebrow at him. “Are you coming to bed?”

 

“I didn’t want to presume...” he trails off, scratching the back of his head. “But I packed my bag, and it’s in the car so... I can stay and we’ll leave together tomorrow?”  


She answers by pulling him off her couch, a surprising feat considering how small she is, and proceeds to drag him to her bedroom. He follows willingly, a spring in his step. 

 

“Sara would be so amused if she knew how much of a gentleman you’re being,” Felicity mumbles as they enter her bedroom. 

 

He’s distracted for a second, catching a flash of a bra that Felicity kicks very quickly under her bed with a nervous laugh. “What were you saying about Sara?” he asks. 

 

Felicity sighs, flopping back onto her bed invitingly. He can’t help but stare at the way her chest expands and contracts with each breath, her quite transparent top doing nothing to hide the dusky peaks of her nipples against her skin. Heat rolls through him at the sight, desire stirring in his pants. 

 

“That she wouldn’t believe me if I told her you’re actively trying _not_ to get in my pants right now,” Felicity drawls, staring pointedly at his crotch. “Just sayin’.” 

 

Oliver barely holds back his growl of frustration as he climbs into bed with her. Just like the night they fell asleep together on his couch, he slides an arm under her, curving the other over her midsection, effectively trapping her against him. 

 

“Trust me, it’s better when we don’t have to rush,” he whispers. “I’ll make it worth _your_ while.”

 

Felicity hums with delight. She nestles back into him, wrapping her own hands around his. “You better,” she pauses for a yawn. 

 

“‘Cause I swear the next time I meet up with Sara and I _still_ can’t compare notes with her, there’s going to be a riot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I know this was... filler. But it sets a couple of things up, most predominantly - *eggplant emoji* for uh the next one. So like don't yell at me for this being a nothing chapter okay thank you so much love y'all lots. 
> 
> Happy Sunday/Monday! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy warning for those wanting to avoid sexytimes & smut - this chapter is pretty much just that. So, y'know. Do what you will with that.

Their hotel room is amazing. Spacious and opulent, a far cry from the no-nonsense business suite Felicity would have booked for herself initially. There’s a fruit basket and a set of what looks like toiletries and really fluffy towels waiting for them on the coffee table as they walk inside.

 

Felicity dumps her handbag on the table, making a beeline for the floor to ceiling window that overlooks most of the city. “Oliver, the view!” she cooes. “Oh, Star Labs is so pretty from up here. I think we have time to check it out before the networking thing tonight!”

 

Oliver tips their bellboy, shutting the door and makes his way to her. She’s right. The view is spectacular, sunny and clear, a nice change of scenery from the perpetual dark and gloomy of Starling City. 

 

“Walter really went all out,” he observes, draping an arm around her shoulders, brushing his lips against her temple. “We’ll have to thank him for this.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t really know how to feel about my boss paying for what is turning out to be a mini-vacation with my boyfriend,” Felicity remarks, snuggling into his embrace. His heart skips a beat at her casual use of the term, still not used to being her _actual_ boyfriend. 

 

“Vacation, huh? I like the sound of that,” he smirks, turning her around to face him. 

 

He drops a kiss on her lips, sliding a hand through her hair, not in her customary ponytail for once. She deepens the kiss, gasping into his mouth, setting off the intense need and arousal in him just like every other time they’ve done this. He feels her slide her fingers into his belt loops, pulling their hips flush together. 

 

 _Hngh._ Oh boy. 

 

“Our first away trip together,” he grunts, cupping her cheek, grinning against her lips. “Does this count as one really long date night, or like, a few date nights, in terms of our contract?” 

 

He’s heard of record scratching moments, seen it in movies, but has never personally in his lifetime ever experienced it. Until just then. 

 

Felicity rears her head back, blinking as a shadow flickers over her face. Her smile falters and she swallows. Takes a full step back, away from him. “Um, we’re still doing that?” 

 

_Fuck._

 

“No,” he replies hastily, panic rising, alarmed. God he’s an _idiot._ He takes it back immediately. “No, we’re not.”

 

She’s biting her bottom lip, jaw set in a challenge. _Convince me otherwise,_ she seems to be saying silently. And also probably, _should have quit while you were ahead, dumb ass._

 

He gathers her in his arms, hands at her waist, and tilts his head down to look directly into her eyes, pleading. “That was a - just a stupid joke. Forget what I said. Forget the contract. Please?” 

 

Still noticeably wary, she huffs under her breath, rolling her eyes. It’s clear she’s working something out in her head, but she’s not pulling away any farther, so he holds on to the hope that he hasn’t decimated his chances at a nice, romantic, quasi-business getaway. 

 

“Okay,” she says eventually. “Good.” The usual blue in her eyes are still clouded with a hint of doubt and he doesn’t like that look on her. He wants to remove all traces of it, wants to reassure her that yes, he’s in. All in. Contract notwithstanding. 

 

With a surge of renewed determination, Oliver lifts her, hands still on her waist, resulting in a shrill yelp of surprise in his ear. Felicity’s hands fly out to steady herself on his shoulders, legs wrapping around him instinctively.

 

“What are you _doing?”_

 

“Gonna make you forget how much of an idiot I am,” he growls, pinning her with a heated stare, sliding his hands up her back as he marches towards the bedroom. 

* * *

 

Felicity’s thought about this moment a lot. 

 

Like, an unhealthy amount of a lot, a lot. Who can blame her, really? Oliver’s hot. His body’s hot. A body that’s made more than a few appearances in her late night fantasies even during the early days of their stranger-than-fiction charade of their relationship, so _this?_

 

Pretty much a dream come true. 

 

_Yeah._

 

Oliver’s slowly making his way up her body, both of them laid out on the luxurious bed in their room. His nose grazes the edge of the waistband of her jeans, tongue marking her skin as he takes his time with her. He uses his teeth, nipping and nibbling, treating her like she’s his favourite candy in the world and maybe - maybe she is? 

 

The sting from his bites is immediately soothed by the swipe of his tongue; over and over he does this, trailing up her body, blazing a path of simmering need in his wake. Her fists curl around the bed sheet, twisting the material in her fingers as she fights the urge to buck underneath him, to get him to hurry the _fuck_ up.

 

Felicity pushes up on her elbows, intent on watching, and she’s gifted with the view of the top of his head as he moves over her, painfully, tortuously, burning her skin as he inches upwards. 

 

She lets out a frustrated growl when he stops moving and starts sucking on the flesh just under her belly button. He lifts his head, just for a second, resting his chin on her. His eyes are hooded, twinkling with delight, clearly pleased with himself.

 

“You okay?” he asks, smirking, but before she can tell him, _yes_ she’s okay, and can he _please_ keep going, he ducks down again, blows a raspberry against her, and resumes his quest to drive her crazy with his stupidly dumb, pretty, face. 

 

Felicity falls back on a whimper of frustration, head hitting the plush pillows as she tries to bend her knees to spur him on. He doesn’t allow her to, using his bulk to keep her pinned to the bed. 

 

Which is something she should be annoyed about and has no right feeling so _\- good -_ but with Oliver... Something about the way he’s holding her down, yet still treating her like precious china, worshiping every inch of her he comes in contact with, doesn’t induce the feeling of being trapped and suffocated like she expects. 

 

It’s nice. _Amazing._

 

His hands bracket her waist as he climbs further up the bed, using her as leverage, sliding the palms of his hands from the outside of her hips towards her ass. He looks up at her then, squeezing her cheeks, once, twice, and when she grunts and kicks at him for being a goddamn _tease,_ he just laughs.

 

He does, however, keep moving, his fingers sliding under her top, painting a path of heat and desire up the side of her body. When he can’t go any further, restricted by her shirt, he pulls the collar down and starts sucking a wet path along her collarbone.

 

“Stop squirming,” he rumbles against her skin, and it, _wow,_ shoots right through her, electrifying every nerve ending in her body right down to her toes. 

 

“I will if you hurry up,” she counters, hands leaving the sheets, raking her nails over his shoulders, then plucks at the material of his shirt.  “Come on. At least take this off.” 

 

To her surprise, he obeys this command instantly, getting onto his knees and pulling it off his body without preamble. She quite literally chokes on her own breath. Seeing him like this, looming over her, abs and muscles on display as he traps her between his knees, dropping that cocky grin at her because he‘s very much aware of what he’s doing to her? 

 

_Unbelievable._

 

“You better believe it,” he grunts as he comes down onto his hands and kisses her, dirty and messy and entirely possessive. 

 

She gives as much as she takes from him, legs wrapping around his waist to keep him right where he is. She bites down on his bottom lip as punishment for his turtle-like pace earlier. 

 

Oliver gasps at her show of force, pulling away slightly, but she reels him back in, hands between his shoulder blades. Nudges his nose as she soothes his lip with a gentler kiss, smiling into him. 

 

Placated for now, he licks his way into her mouth, the contrast between the coarseness of his scruff and the absolute softness of his lips heightening her already skyrocketing levels of arousal. It’s getting hotter in their room, but it’s nothing compared to the scorching heat being generated between them. 

 

“Your turn?” Oliver murmurs as he leaves her lips, whispering into her ear. Her skin breaks out into goosebumps at the gravelly tone of his voice and she merely nods her agreement. 

 

Oliver grins, rising up again, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he reaches for the hem of her shirt. He makes quick work of it, tugging it up and over her head before she even realises what’s happening. Gently, he reaches for her glasses and takes them off too, kissing her forehead before he places them on the bedside table. 

 

She watches, as best as she can with her limited vision anyway, as he focuses his gaze on the newly exposed skin, pupils blown, darker than she’s ever seen them. 

 

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers. 

 

His fingers slide under her bra straps and around her back, unfastening it with expert ease. And then he’s right over her chest and nuzzling her breasts, teeth scraping around her nipple, tongue flicking, fingers pinching and massaging and - 

 

_Holy sh -_

 

She digs her nails into his back, uncaring if he feels them. She doesn’t have the capacity to focus on anything other than the way he’s feasting on her, dragging his tongue back and forth over her pebbled tip. She’s sure her entire body is flushed red; her skin feels like it’s on fire, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her. 

 

Her neck arches, body undulating against him, using the chiseled counters of his abdominal muscles to relieve some of the pressure coiling tight within her. She’s losing her senses, hips grinding up against him wantonly, legs around him in a vice-like grip, chasing the inevitable high she knows is coming. 

 

Oliver single-mindedly, relentlessly, pushes her higher and higher towards that peak, only to shift gears at the last minute. She finds herself gasping for air when he decides to switch his attention to her other nipple, starting all over, and back again whenever he feels like it. It’s almost too much, too fast, too _good._

 

And all he’s done so far is touched her breasts.

 

His hands are so big, spanning the entire side of her ribcage, holding her in place as he has his way with her. His callouses - she remembers he told her that he’s good at archery - feel amazing against her smooth skin and she wants - needs - him to put his hands everywhere. All over her. At once. 

 

Yeah, _okay._ Enough foreplay.

 

She presses her heels into his ass, leaving no room between them so that the only thing separating their lower bodies is the material of their jeans. _That_ does the trick, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from him. 

 

She feels him against her stomach, thick and solid, warm even though his jeans, and a thrill of anticipation races through her blood. These pants are going to need to come off soon.

 

He gives her breasts a break after what feels like hours, surging forward to slide his tongue up the side of her neck. She cards her fingers through his hair, encouraging, and he takes that as permission to keep going, teeth tugging at her earlobe, then back down to nip at her pulse point. 

 

Her body is buzzing, heat churning like a whirlpool of unbridled pleasure threatening to overwhelm her. 

 

“Oliver,” she moans. “God _\- yeah._ ” 

 

She drops a hand from his head to travel up his side of his body, tracing the ridges of his muscle, slipping as the sweat collects on his skin. Her other hand dips under the waistband of his jeans, eager to bestow upon him the same thrill he’s igniting in her. 

 

She wraps her hand around his shaft, squeezing him over the silky material of his boxers. He twitches in her grasp, in time with his ragged, incoherent mumbling and Felicity grins. His hips bears down on her hand, seeking more of her touch.

 

“Felicity, shit, you - ah... yeah that’s good,” Oliver’s sighs heavily, panting in her ear.

 

“Pants off then, mister.” She punctuates her demand with another squeeze around his cock, and a sloppy kiss which Oliver returns gladly. 

 

The angle isn’t great with her hand trapped between them, but Oliver’s enthusiasm more than makes up for it. He’s intoxicating. The weight of him over her, the way he pairs his open-mouthed kisses with the soothing circles he’s drawing over her body with his hands, is an _experience._

 

You too," Oliver groans. 

 

It takes her a second to register what he’s saying - that he wants her pants off too - and when she does, she pulls her hand out of his pants and shuffles back, needing the space between them to comply with his request, eyebrows arched. 

 

He takes the hint and gets back up on his knees, fingers fumbling clumsily with the button of his jeans. She’s faring no better, having to resort to ripping her own zipper down and very inelegantly shoving her pants down her legs. 

 

Oliver pounces the moment her pants fall off the bed, making himself comfortable back between her legs, grinning rakishly at her. His fingers toy with the elastic band of her underwear, snapping it once, eyes fixed on her. 

 

_Oh._

 

“Yes.” She nods at his silent question. “Yes, _please."_

 

His mouth descends on her, wet and hot against the material of her panties, a preview of what’s about to come. The anticipation that’s been building since he walked them into the room mounts, heat cresting.

 

“You’re so _fucking_ beautiful,” he rasps, before curving his hands over the outside of her thighs. Felicity helps him out, maneuvers her legs so they’re hooked over his shoulders, crossed at the ankles, and then - 

 

Dear _God._

 

She’s keening, writhing embarrassingly under him, barely able to comprehend the things he’s doing to her with his tongue. Her panties are sliding off, the work of his magic fingers, and then those same fingers skim over her the inside of her thighs, just _off_ of where she wants them to be. 

 

“Tease. Fuck, dont tease me, Oliver,” she pants, pressing her fingers into his sweat-slicked shoulders. “C’mon.” 

 

“S’not teasing -” Oliver murmurs, his lips and his tongue coaxing another shudder of barely contained desire from her. “- if I plan on following through, Felicity.” 

 

He sinks two fingers into her as if to prove his point, and the sound that he pulls from her is animalistic, primal and borderline pornographic. Her back bows over the bed, eyes slamming shut, attention focused solely on the way his fingers are sliding in and out of her, curling and probing and - 

 

“Oliver!” she gasps. Toes digging into her sheets. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...”

 

His response is to ramp up his pace, nose brushing her clit as he laps up her arousal, drinking from her fervently, pushing her closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, an edge she’ll happily fall over if it means she’s falling with him. He brings his thumb into play, seeking her pulsing, throbbing bud and then - 

 

“Oh, _God!”_

* * *

 

Oliver’s never seen anything as beautiful as Felicity in the throes of passion, a sheen of sweat on her skin, the inside of her thighs glinting in the afternoon light with the evidence of her arousal. 

 

He rises up on his haunches, content to just watch her for a second. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, chin tilted upwards, hands braced against the headboard as she rides out her orgasm. Her breasts are heaving, the area around her nipples red from beard burn. He licks his lips at the sight, groaning as his tongue catches the remnants of her juices on the edge of his mouth. 

 

He’s so _hard,_ has been hard for ages, it’s bordering on being painful but he wants to savour this moment. Wants to take his time to drink her in, naked and open and blissed out on an orgasm that _he_ brought on. With his mouth. 

 

Yeah, okay, he’s really proud about that. 

 

“Oliver.” Felicity’s voice, breathless and a little awed, he thinks, makes him grin even wider and he falls back down on his elbows, framing her face with his hands. 

 

“Hey, you with me?” he checks, thumbs caressing the side of her face, preening a little. 

 

“Mmmhm, yeah. So with you.” Felicity’s hands leave the sheets and spreads over his ass. Pushes him down against her, and he hisses when his boxer-clad cock makes contact with her still damp thighs. Felicity kisses him, sucks his top lip between hers lazily and then pulls back.  “Wanna be _with_ you now.” 

 

“Ye-ah,” he chokes out. 

 

Her fingers start pulling his boxers down, and he lifts his hips to help her out. Toes off the offending material when it reaches far enough down his legs and then he’s back on her, skin-on-skin, hot and slick.

 

He starts moving, sliding himself against her, indulging, drawing out a long, dirty groan from her lips. He gets impossibly harder, the tip of his cock nudging her clit every time he thrusts upwards. The remnants of her orgasm is warm and sticky, coating him with every slow glide between her thighs. 

 

“I want - inside,” he gasps as he rolls his hips against her again. Felicity shudders in his arms and he knows they’re on the same page. She draws her leg up, hooks it over his bare ass and grinds up into him. His brain short-circuits. “God, Felicity, I need -”

 

“Yeah, do you have -” 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, stretching out to look for his jeans and fumbles around until he manages to get a hold on the foil packet. “Right here.” 

 

With a move he can’t quite wrap his head around yet, Felicity manages to twist herself out from under him, pulling at him until he’s being pushed back against the headboard, staring dumbfounded at her. 

 

She’s unrolling the condom that’s somehow in her hands now. She winks, “You’re not the only one with moves, stud.” Her hands are on him, searing into his skin, and then without much warning, she’s sliding right onto him. 

 

_“Oh, God!”_

 

She takes him in, slowly, and he revels in how good she feels, hot and so fucking _wet._ His blood feels like it’s on fire, zipping through him, sending him into an unprecedented frenzy. 

 

White spots bloom in his vision, the tension in his balls ratcheting up tenfold as she slowly starts riding him. She keeps a hand on one of his shoulders, while the other sneaks in between them, pressing over her clit. 

 

He watches as she moves, captivated by the sight of his dick sliding in and out of her, her fingers flicking at her clit as she fucks herself on him. Their breathy groans mingle in the space between them, the sound of their skin slipping against each other filling the air. 

 

“Felicity,” he moans. He can’t take more of this. “Felicity, please, faster,” he begs. 

 

Wordlessly, she leans into him, changing their angle, and she swallows his accompanying gasp with a kiss. She slides her tongue into his mouth at the same time she slams down onto him and he lets out an embarrassing shout at the change of pace.

 

It’s never been like this before for him, never this raw, never this... unadulterated. Uncontrollable. His hands grip her waist so tightly he’s sure hes going to leave marks on her when they’re done but he’s not in charge of his actions anymore. All he can do is let pure, carnal, instinct take over. 

 

He thrusts his hips up to meet her half way, finding a rhythm that really, really, works for them. Felicity whimpers, forehead pressed against his, eyes shut, both hands on his shoulders as she bounces over him. Her breasts are pressed up against his chest, nipples hard against his skin and it’s all so much - _too much._

 

He drives up into her at a punishing pace, erratic, sloppy, but somehow still in sync with her. Her thighs tenses imperceptibly, her insides fluttering, and he knows she’s back on the precipice of another orgasm. That knowledge encourages him even more and God, yeah he wants her to come again before he does. 

 

“One more,” he urges breathlessly. “One more, c’mon.” 

 

And just like that, as if the sound of his voice is some sort of magic trigger, Felicity explodes around him. She squeezes him internally, body arching backwards with the force of her orgasm and then he flies into oblivion himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated as much as I appreciated watching Hugh Jackman prance about on stage this weekend for three hours.
> 
> Love you lots, xoxo! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	15. Chapter 15

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to visit Star Labs this afternoon.” 

 

Felicity rolls her eyes at Oliver, scoffing at the blatant lie. “No, you’re not.” 

 

“Hey, I am!” he protests, snagging two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. He hands one to her, flourishing it with exaggeration. He even bows a little for effect, and if she wasn’t slightly annoyed with him, she’d think he was cute. 

 

She turns her back to him after taking the flute of champagne, carefully making a mental catalogue of every potential investor in the room, refusing to allow Oliver’s odd behaviour to derail her.  

 

He’s been hovering all evening, nipping at her heels as she makes the rounds at symposium’s networking event. He’s way too chipper, eager, and something’s off about him but Felicity chalks it up to the Earth-shattering sex they just had. She can’t fault him for that; she’d still be riding that post-coital high as well if she wasn’t busy fretting about this networking thing, so she merely grits her teeth through Oliver’s antics.

 

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate his support, because she does. Absolutely. But Oliver’s idea of being supportive is him alternating between snarking in her ear about the people he recognises and making comments about their very enthusiastic session of afternoon delight earlier, neither of which is any proving to be any help at all.

 

“Okay, fine,” he backtracks, following her closely as she makes her way to a group of power players gathered in the middle of the room. “I mean, _I_ didn’t want to go, but I know _you_ did so I’m sorry that you didn’t get to go. But I am most definitely not sorry about why we didn’t get to go.”  

 

Felicity stops in her tracks, a scathing remark on her tongue about how he’s _really_ going to be sorry when this event is over and she banishes him to the couch in their suite for the night.

 

But when she turns around, she finds herself facing a smirking Oliver, blatantly dragging his eyes down her body with a salacious smile, and the words die on her lips. Her cheeks heat up instantly at the way he’s looking at her and she snarls under her breath.

 

“Stop it,” she grouses, flicking her gaze around to make sure no one’s paying any attention to them. “You’re making me uncomfortable and I have people to impress tonight. Which I cannot do when I’m uncomfortable. So stop. Please.” 

 

“You have nothing to be worried about, you impressed me this afternoon,” he drawls. “A lot.” 

 

She is going to kill him. _“Oliver!”_  

 

The grin on his face falters at the tone of her voice, and she suppresses the urge to smack him upside the head even if a small part of her is delighted about his compliment. The kicked puppy look isn’t a good one on him and she’s just about had it with his theatrics. 

 

“Look, Oliver,” she says sternly. “I liked the sex, loved it actually. Really want a repeat performance. And I get that you’re still all gooey about it, which, honestly is super flattering, and under other circumstances I would be too. But this is _work_ for me, okay? So can you lay off the charm for a few hours? Please? Or at least turn it on people who will give QC lots and lots of money?” 

 

Oliver presses his lips together, amused. “You think I’m charming?” 

 

Yeah _, that’s it._ Her eye twitches with irritation and she huffs, giving up trying to reason with him. She downs her drink swiftly, returning the flute to another passing waiter and storms away from her infuriating boyfriend before she causes a scene. 

 

Unfortunately for her, she doesn’t get very far before Oliver’s by her side again, damn his long legs, a hand at her elbow, snagging her arm so she’s forced to slow down and turn to him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly before she can start berating him. To his credit, Oliver genuinely does seem apologetic. He drops her arm when he’s sure she isn’t going to walk away again, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. 

 

“I’m sorry for being a handful,” he repeats, sighing. “Truth is, I’m feeling a little out of my depth here, that’s all. This tech stuff is not really my area of expertise. I’ll stop. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

 

Her frustration with him melts away at his quiet, almost uncharacteristic confession. 

 

Oh, Oliver. 

 

The mask of arrogant nonchalance he’s been wearing all evening falls away, and the Oliver she knows reappears. He’s less self-assured, less cocky, but still so devastatingly handsome. 

 

Felicity lets her fingers run over the edge of the lapels of his suit, tugging at them in pretense of straightening it. His chest rises and falls beneath her hand, and she’s transported back to high school, just before presenting their final joint project to the class, and having to convince Oliver in a very similar manner that he’s not going to screw up his speech.

 

“I know that all this tech stuff isn’t your cup of tea,” she admits softly. “Walter basically told you to come and look pretty next to me, and I get that’s a little demoralising. But just treat this like any other party, Oliver. Ignore all the technical stuff, leave that to me, and just talk to these people about the stuff you _are_ good at, like your clean energy initiative. Or your vision for the company once you take over as CEO. You know you have good ideas, convince them of it.”

 

Oliver’s shoulders loses some of their stiffness, nervous tension falling away. He lets out a long breath of air at her reassurance and Felicity’s heart flutters at being able to elicit that kind of response from him. 

 

He chuckles lightly, tipping his head back briefly. “You always make things so easy.” 

 

“It’s all part of _my_ charm,” she tells him with a wink. “Which I’m going to use on those stuffy, rich businessmen to try and convince them to give our Applied Sciences division lots of money, so will you let me go do my thing now?”

 

Oliver nods, looking so much more at ease, and she can’t help but lift up on her toes to quickly kiss him. PDA be damned. The soft, serene look that lingers over his features when she pulls away is worth it. _So_ worth it. 

 

“‘Go mingle,” she instructs. “I’ll meet you at the bar in a bit.” 

* * *

 If you told Oliver when he came back from college that he’d one day be trading industry gossip with some of the most influential power players on the West Coast, he’d have laughed in your face at the sheer incredulity of the suggestion.

 

But here he is, holding his own against a group of people far more experienced than he is, debating the merits of a yet to be tested solar energy based manufacturing process. 

 

It shouldn’t surprise him that they're staring at him like he's some sort of strange mythical creature. None of them expects this from him, and he can tell they’re more than impressed. For the first time in a long time, he’s starting to believe that maybe he can do this ‘running the family company’ thing after all. 

 

“Research shows that the future benefits far outweigh the initial setup costs, both in monetary and non-monetary terms,” he tells the group, preparing to launch into exactly what the research says in case they need some sort of proof from him.

 

 _Trust, but verify,_ Felicity had told him once. He remembers with startling clarity how she ranted for nearly half an hour about this particular subject matter a few days ago and it gives him the confidence boost he needs in case he’s questioned by the snooty representative Wayne Industries had sent over from Gotham.

 

She’d been wearing a cute pink top, cropped, dotted with little daisies all over. Her feet had been pulled up in front of her as she scrolled through her some article on her tablet, nails glinting in the light with each swipe of her finger over the screen. Her voice had been ridden with disdain and frustration, arguing rather adorable with her poor unassuming tablet about how _wrong_ the article was. 

 

Okay, so maybe it’s more about Felicity being cute that he remembers, and less about the topic itself, but what he does know about it is enough to garner some form of respect from the others so he’s not going to complain about his unconventional methods. 

 

“I hear Miss Smoak is the one spear-heading this particular venture. Looks like she's turning out to be a great hire for you,” someone chimes in from behind him, and Oliver feels his jaw twitch in reaction. He turns around, years of etiquette training dictating his moves as he grasps Ray Palmer’s hand in a solid handshake. 

 

“Ray,” he greets evenly. He scans the other man’s face for hints of malicious intent - he hasn’t forgotten about Felicity’s complaints about the guy - but finds nothing but politeness staring back at him. 

 

Ray nods. “Oliver. Glad you could make it. Queen Consolidated’s presence is always appreciated.”

 

“Happy to oblige,” he answers with a forced smile. “Thank you for the invitation.” 

 

“Well, I have to admit -” Ray leans in closer, whispering conspiratorially. Why, Oliver’s not sure, since the rest of the group has since dispersed, leaving him woefully alone with the other man. “- I had rather selfish reasons.”

 

Oliver scowls. Oh, he has no doubt about that. The man probably thought he could woo Felicity with all his flashy techno gadget _whatever_ at the main event he’s holding tomorrow. Too bad. Oliver puffs out his chest. Felicity’s not so easily - 

 

“- asked her out for coffee and she kept turning me down, I was starting to wonder if she really was as married to her work as the media likes to claim she is, but turns out it’s because of... you know. You.” 

 

“She’s not married to her work,” Oliver jumps in, eager to defend her. He hates that this is the picture they’ve painted of her. Like she’s some basement-dwelling gremlin just toiling away at her work every day. “She’s dedicated, of course, more than anyone I know. But don’t believe everything you read in the papers. She knows how to have fun.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t - I’m not insinuating that she doesn’t,” Ray shakes his head quickly, his dumb Disney-prince like hair flopping over his forehead. “All I’m saying is that I guess the better man won. Ah, but she’s not a trophy... of any sort. She’s her own woman who makes her own decisions. I just meant that if she’s with _you,_ she can’t be all that -” 

 

He stops paying attention to Ray at that point. His babbling isn’t as endearing as Felicity’s and he truly doesn’t care about what Ray thinks of his relationship with her. It does however, remind him of the fact that it’s been two hours since Felicity left him to go charm whoever it is she needed to charm and he _misses_ her. 

 

He finds himself casting his gaze around the room in search of her, nodding absent-mindedly to whatever Ray is saying. If only he had Felicity’s talent for magically shutting down the power, he’d do that right now and in the confusion that would follow, he would drag her back to their room for another round (or two) of mind blowing sex. 

 

Wishful thinking. 

 

“I was hoping for a joint venture between both our companies, but that kind of fell through,” Ray’s saying when Oliver decides to check back into the conversation. 

 

“Right, for the security system,” Oliver nods. _Finally,_ something he can contribute to. “We decided to go in-house with that, nothing against Palmer Tech at all. Our Applied Sciences division can do just as much as Palmer Tech in terms of what the design and manufacturing process required, so it was a much more feasible, logical, option.” 

 

Ray blinks wordlessly at Oliver, head slightly tilted. “I wasn’t aware you, ah, knew about that.” 

 

Oliver suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at him, trying to keep his tone as civil as possible. “Why wouldn’t I?” he challenges. 

 

“Oh, just, not something I thought you’d be interested in that’s all,” Ray shrugs. 

 

The temptation to reach out and punch him in the face is overwhelming. The bubble of fleeting triumph he’d experienced earlier when he’d managed to impress the others bursts and Oliver’s back to feeling like no matter how much effort he puts in to prove that he’s changed and that he really, truly is doing the best he can, there are still going to be people like Ray who still think he’s the colossal fuck up he used to be.

 

Two steps forward, one step back. He’s so _over_ it. 

 

“It’s the family company,” Oliver says thinly. The collar of his dress shirt suddenly feels too tight, constricting. He wants to _not_ be here anymore, fruitlessly trying to convince these assholes that he’s good enough to be running his own damn company. 

 

“I’m interested in everything about it,” he remarks in a clipped tone. 

 

“Of course, of course,” Ray says, placating. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I assumed that you’d be more of a high level, _show me the results_ kind of guy, you know? Not the kind who bothers with the nitty-gritty, behind the scenes stuff.” 

 

In other words, someone who just doesn’t give a damn. Yeah, he gets it. Here’s yet another person who thinks Oliver’s only where he is for no other reason than nepotism. 

 

Fuck. 

 

He’s not even going to dignify that with a response. The undercurrent of condescension in Ray’s tone makes his stomach turn and he’s absolutely done with making pointless small talk with him, and with everyone else in the room, if he’s being honest. 

 

And that’s when his saviour arrives in the form of a very bright eyed, pink-cheeked Felicity. 

 

The chaos thrumming through his veins settles, the mere sight of her doing wonders to calm him. She let her hair down in curly waves tonight, claiming that there was nothing she could do about it after their midday romp in the sheets, and it frames her face like a pretty halo now, glowing under the lights in the room. 

 

“Hey, Oliver!” she chirps, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. She’s more than likely a little tipsy, and a wave of fondness washes over him. “Hey, Ray.”

 

No, he’s not at all smug about the fact that she sounds significantly less enthused when she greets the other man. 

 

“You don’t mind if I steal Oliver away for a second, do you?” she asks, and the relief that courses through him at the prospect of ending his conversation with Ray is insurmountable. 

 

He’s barely able to choke out a quick “See you around, Ray!” before Felicity’s dragging him away, her tiny fingers tight around his hand. She marches them through the throng of people, past the table of canapes and the bar, and right through to the entrance of Palmer Tech. 

 

“You looked like you needed saving,” she chuckles, slowing down to a more reasonable pace once they’re clear of the crowd. “Speaking from personal experience, of course.” 

 

Oliver frowns and stops walking mid-stride. He’s still smarting from his encounter with Ray, resentment lingering from the way he assumed Oliver had no interest in the company he’s about to take over, so her comment only serves to darken his mood.

 

“How much personal experience, exactly?” 

 

She waves off his concern. “Ugh, well, not so much tonight, but in _general_ -” she raises her hand and makes a wide circular motion, “I’ve been on the receiving end of more than one condescending mansplainer so I recognise a fellow sufferer. Nothing for you to worry about.” 

 

Easy enough for her to say, he thinks. At least with Felicity, she can shoot down every single asshole by running circles around them with her level of genius. Her accomplishments speak for themselves. 

 

Unlike his. 

 

“Oliver? What’s wrong?” 

 

Felicity’s voice pulls him out of the dark pit of self-loathing he’s found himself in. Her fingers are still entwined with his, anchoring him, and it helps him shake off the bitter resentment threatening to engulf him. 

 

“You okay?” she tries again, forehead marred by worry lines. She’s at his side instantly, gently rubbing his arm, appealing to him with inquisitive eyes. 

 

“Do you want to head back to the hotel?” she asks, reading him like an open book. Her pupils dart back and forth over his face, taking him in, before she nods decisively. “Yeah, I think we’ll go. Let’s go. Let me get us a cab.”

 

Fuck. He doesn’t deserve her. 

 

“Felicity-” He’s overcome by the magnitude of how much he feels for her in that very second, unable to get the words out of his mouth. 

 

“- I... thank you,” he manages. It’s not enough. Never enough, but it’s all he can muster up right now. 

 

The noise from the still going networking party fades away behind him, and he focuses instead on Felicity’s stunning figure in front of him, head bowed over her phone as she gets them a cab back. Focuses on the fact that she’s willing to leave an important work event because she’s worried about him. 

 

Some part of him is painfully aware that he’s being a bit of a wet blanket, dragging Felicity away from a party she seemed to be enjoying. He knows he’s being selfish but his ego’s taken a beating tonight and Felicity is the only person who knows him, and can see past his transgressions so he just wants her to himself for the rest of the night. Is that so wrong?

 

It hits him like a freight train right then; realisation dawning upon him like the bright rays of sunrise over the bleak expanse of his sad soul. Standing there staring at the wonder that is Felicity Smoak, a woman who he’s really only begun to get to know over the last two months, he’s hit with sudden clarity about... _everything._

 

But mainly, about the fact that he’s undeniably in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might come sooner now. Woot! 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	16. Chapter 16

As mornings go, hers had started swimmingly well. 

 

Then again, gasping at the cusp of a rolling orgasm, with Oliver nestled between her thighs, intent on getting her off a second time before her alarm goes off is pretty much the best way a girl can wake up, so okay, her morning had started a lot better than _swimmingly well._

 

Oliver had licked at her folds with unrivaled enthusiasm, committed to exploring every inch of her with his tongue and his fingers, with his nose brushing her clit every so often as he lost himself in her. He had her keening through her release (the first of many for the morning) in what must be a record time for her - and he then just... kept going, much to her delight. 

 

Felicity had never had sex like that before. Equal parts intense and light, laughter mingling with the embarrassingly loud moaning and grunting that fell from their lips. And so very, _very_ energetic. 

 

They’d only done this one other time before (but they’ve racked up about 5 orgasms in total, not that she was counting) and it was either a testament to Oliver’s bedroom skills, or to the fact that they’re already both so in tune with each other, that it felt like they’ve been doing this _forever._

 

And then he finally slid into her, all hot and confident and powerful and _God,_ if she wasn’t careful she could get addicted to this. To him, and his body, and she has never once felt like this about anyone in her life before. Not even Cooper, who had been her last long term boyfriend before Oliver.  

 

He distracted her so well for what felt like hours; their bodies moving together with the grace of expert dancers, slick with sweat, both panting and gasping into the space between them. She rode wave after wave of pure bliss that she’d forgotten about the weird funk he’d been in before they made it back to the hotel the night before.

 

Looking out over the floor of the convention hall _now_ however, watching Oliver from her position backstage as she waits for her turn to present, she notices that he’s looking agitated again, stressed out and fidgeting like a caged animal.  

 

She takes in the way he’s holding himself; the stiffness in his shoulders and the hard lines of his clenched jaw, the way keeps shoving his hands in and out of his pants pocket, and she knows something’s wrong. 

 

It’s a marked difference from when he left their room this morning, practically floating through breakfast and she wants to go over to him and ask if he’s okay. 

 

Unfortunately for her, she’s due on stage in mere minutes, and the churning worry in her gut has to wait until she’s done selling her pitch to everyone in the room.

 

She delivers her presentation with expert ease over the next half an hour, shoving all non-work related thoughts to the back of her mind. It goes as smoothly as could be expected, these things being second nature to her now, and as she drinks in the impressed looks on the faces of those in attendance that day, satisfaction and pride blooms in her chest. 

 

Walter had trusted her to win over the crowd today and she’s glad that she hasn’t let him down.  

 

There are a couple of hands up for questions so she turns her attention over to answer them. She notices Ray watching from the far end of the room, shooting her a quick thumbs up, looking for all intents and purposes, very much like a proud parent. 

 

Which is a hell lot better than him being an annoyingly persistent suitor, so she’ll take that as a win. 

 

Oliver stands right by him, next to a man she vaguely recognises, a small smile on his face. He waves his fingers at her when he catches her eye, all cute and adorable, even if he’s still radiating some sort of nervous energy, blanketed with tension. 

 

She wraps up quickly soon after, eternally grateful that no accidental innuendos had made it into her presentation (this time) and makes a beeline to where Oliver’s standing. 

 

Which is when all hell suddenly breaks loose. 

* * *

 

“She’s somethin’ else, huh?” 

 

Max Fuller, long time pain in the ass and perpetual thorn in Oliver’s side claps him over his shoulder, leaning forward as he gestures towards the stage at Felicity. 

 

“Man, do I love blondes,” he drawls, sounding as slimy as the snake that he is as he is. “How’d you manage to land that piece of ass anyway?” 

 

“Hey, don’t be rude,” Ray interjects suddenly, and Oliver turns to him, mildly surprised. Ray glares at Max, which ends up looking rather comical - he’s probably not used to glaring at anyone - and Oliver nods at Ray, appreciating the effort. 

 

“Why are you here anyway, Max?” Oliver asks quietly, not wanting to disrupt Felicity’s presentation. As far as he knows, Max owns a club all the way back in Starling City, and has absolutely no business attending a technology symposium. 

 

“Why do you care?” Max asks in return, taking a step around him so they’re facing off against each other. “Afraid I’m gonna make a move on your girl the same way you did with mine?”

 

The unpleasant memory rises to the forefront of his mind, and Oliver finds himself awash with shame. Sleeping with Max’s fiancee might not have been the worst thing he’s ever done in his long sordid history of bad decisions, but when he puts himself in that position now, thinking about _Felicity_ and Max, it makes him want to hurl, the disgust clawing at the back of his throat - 

 

“Oh, struck a nerve, did I?” 

 

“Shut up, Max,” Oliver seethes. He keeps his eyes on Felicity, side-stepping past Max so he doesn't have to look at him, waving to her when she catches his eye from the stage. She grins at him mid-speech and he smiles back at her. God. She’s beautiful. 

 

“But really, uh, what _are_ you doing here?” Oliver hears Ray ask Max. It’s almost as if he wants to engage Max in a civil conversation, oh the naivete.

 

“Oh, I heard there was going to be some amazing presentation about a next generation security software and Poison is looking to ramp out our security so...” Max moves to stand in front of Oliver again, smirking, blocking Oliver’s view of the stage. “Imagine my surprise when I found out _Felicity Smoak_ is the one giving the presentation.” 

 

“Max -” Ray warns. “Please don’t -” 

 

“It’s not often you come across a woman who’s both hot _and_ smart, you know?” Max continues, turning back to the stage briefly as Felicity starts taking audience questions. He quirks his eyebrows at Oliver when he turns back. “She’s not exactly Oliver’s type either if you know what I mean.” He winks at Ray. “She’s... more yours? With the whole nerdy librarian thing?” 

 

“Max, please for the love of God, shut up!” Oliver hisses, face heating up, fists trembling with suppressed anger. A few people turn around at his outburst and he nods apologetically at them. 

 

He should have just stayed in their hotel room this morning. Nothing in today’s agenda piqued his interest and honestly he could have used some time by himself, away from these people he has absolutely nothing in common with. 

 

But then Felicity was third on the list of presenters that day and he wanted to support her like the proud CEO-in-waiting and boyfriend that he is. So he showed up. And now he has to deal with pricks like Max Fuller who can’t seem to let go of something that happened years and years ago. 

 

“I bet she’s a spitfire in bed.” Max drawls, oblivious to Oliver’s ever-increasing frustration. “The up-tight ones usually are. Am I right, Oliver? Maybe you’ll uh, loan her out for a night or two - so I can sample her myself? You didn’t mind sharing our girls before.” 

 

“Max,” Ray interrupts forcefully. “That’s enough.” 

 

He puts his hand on Max’s shoulders, trying to lead him away from Oliver. The other man dislodges Ray’s hand and shoves him backwards, ignoring the fact that they’re starting to amass an audience.

 

“C’mon, Oliver! What happened to you?” Max taunts loudly. “You used to be so much more _fun!_ Tell me, _is_ she a spitfire? Because I really like the feisty ones.” 

 

“Fuck off, Max!” Oliver snaps. He can feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, and it’s taking everything in him to keep his anger in check. 

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Oliver demands, his voice dropping into a dangerous snarl. “I’m sorry that I slept with your fiancee but that was years ago and you’re not even together anymore so, what does it matter? Leave Felicity out of this. Why don’t you just _move on?_ ” 

 

“Because people like you and me? We don’t change, Oliver.” Max laughs, obnoxious and loud and people are most definitely staring now. “Once an asshole, always an asshole.” 

 

Max gets right up into his face, leering, eyes flashing as he taunts Oliver. “Plus, your girlfriend is hot and I bet by the end of tonight, I’m going to have her screaming my name and there’s _nothing_ you can do about it.” 

 

Which is when Oliver loses it. 

 

One minute he’s in full control of himself, staring daggers at Max, and the next, his clenched fist connects with Max’s face, right in his nose, sending him flying backwards, crashing into tables and chairs and into more than a few innocent bystanders.

 

He doesn’t even notice the hands that are trying to pull him back, and he marches towards Max’s limp body, grabs him by the collar and hauls him up. 

 

“You wanna say that again?” he growls, tightening his hold, restricting the airflow around Max’s throat. He feels a strange sense of pride in the blood that’s dripping from Max’s nose onto the shiny floor. 

 

“You know what, Oliver? You’re a fucking loser.” Max goads him, unphased, not missing a beat. His hands make a feeble attempt to claw at Oliver’s fists as he gasps for air. 

 

“Same old Ollie Queen, solving problems with your fist. You’re not even a proper CEO - they probably created this stupid position for you because they felt sorry for the billionaire loser orphan who has nothing going for him in his life.” 

 

Oliver freezes as the malicious, sinister words sink in.

 

Oliver blinks at him, all the fight leaving his body. Max falls in a heap onto the ground as Oliver backs away slowly. The rage dissipates from him, replaced by the feeling that’s plagued him the entire time he’s been here at this event: hopelessness. 

 

Inadequacy. 

 

“Yeah, see, even you realise it.” Max laughs as he  gets to his feet. “Poor Oliver Queen, went and got himself a degree and still can’t run his own damn company.”

 

Max sneers, wiping the blood streaming down his nose. He takes Oliver’s silence as his cue to keep going. “And what does that say about your precious Felicity, huh? You really believe that someone like her can truly be happy with a loser like you?” 

 

Oliver’s ears ring with a strange, loud humming that drowns out most of what Max is saying. His cheeks are hot, flaming with embarrassment and barely restrained anger. A million things run through his head at once.  

 

He’s caused a scene. 

 

Everyone’s _staring._

 

And then there’s the question that he asked himself a million times in the last week or so, which Max had so helpfully repeated with utter contempt - how _can_ Felicity truly be happy with someone like him?  

 

“You know, she’s probably just with you to get her foot through the door at your company. Sooner or later it’ll be hers. Imagine the headlines, _Oliver’s Queen takes over Queen Consolidated._ ”

 

“She is a genius, after all. It’s probably all part of her grand plan. But hey, at least we can both agree you got a couple of good fucks out of her.”

 

Fury swells inside him again, and this time he allows it to take over. 

 

He feels the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his vision narrowing until it consists solely of the lazy smirk spreading across Max’s face. Oliver slams his fist into Max’s face again and the sound echoes through the room with a resounding crack. 

 

“That’s a couple more than _you_ will ever have.”

 

Fuck. That’s not what he wanted to say.

 

But then it’s too late to take it back and he hears someone radioing for security and he can feel the heat of the judgmental stares aimed at him from everyone in the room so - _fuck that_. He whirls around, the still-stunned faces of everyone around him nothing but inconsequential blurs as he muscles his way out of the growing crowd, Max’s insulting laughter taunting him. 

 

“Got a couple of good fucks out of me, huh?” 

 

Oliver stumbles to a stop at the sound of her voice. 

 

A cold chill travels down his spine. 

 

Felicity appears in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere. She’s still holding on to the clicker she used for her presentation, hands hanging limply down her sides. Her expression is unnaturally blank.

 

How had he forgotten that she’d be there? That she probably watched everything transpire right before her eyes?

 

“Are you happy now?” she asks without waiting for a response, not that he has the capacity to formulate one right now anyway. 

 

She makes a small gesture at the crowd that has started whispering harshly around them. “If you were trying to ruin my presentation and my credibility all at the same time, congratulations Oliver. I think you did it.” 

 

He doesn’t miss the slight tinge of betrayal and disbelief in her words and it cuts deep. Burns through his skin like acid as he realises what he’s done. 

 

Felicity’s doing a good job putting up a somewhat calm exterior, but her hands are trembling and he knows her well enough to realise that her eerie, neutral facade doesn’t bode well for him.

 

“I know you didn’t want to be here today, but getting into a fight to get out of this is something else,” Felicity states evenly. Flippant, almost. As if she didn’t just watch her boyfriend pummel someone to the ground in an extraordinary show of rage. “Points for effort, but I would have chosen a less violent method, personally.” 

 

Hold on a second  - does she really think that he picked a fight with Max on purpose? 

 

Oliver narrows his eyes at her. Nice. _Great._ His own girlfriend thinks he’s nothing more than an uncontrollable caveman. Definitely doesn’t help the sinking pit of self-loathing forming in his stomach.

 

“I don’t want to do this here,” he tells her brusquely, closing his hand around hers, trying to drag her out the hall with him. 

 

To his surprise, Felicity yanks her hand out of his grasp, feet planted on the ground, unmoving. She’s a solid wall of disapproval and yeah, okay he knows deserves it but does she really want to yell at him here? Now?

 

“Felicity... come on, let‘s go,” he pleads.   

 

He tries to meet her gaze, but he averts his eyes almost immediately. He can’t stomach the disappointment reflected in her steely gaze, the bitterness of how he’s upset her weighing heavily against his heart. He really just wants to _go._

 

Why can’t she understand that?  

 

“We can’t leave,” she states mechanically and he _hates_ that. He hates the complete lack of emotion in her words, hates that he’s the reason she’s lost the vibrancy and exuberance she had just minutes ago when she was on stage. 

 

She continues, all professional and entirely detached. “You’ve got to fix this. Damage control, Oliver. These people probably think -” 

 

He flings his arms back angrily. “You know what, I don’t care what they think!” 

 

Felicity catches his flying hand, her grip around his wrist abnormally tight. “You _should_ care what they think. Get a grip, Oliver. You’re better than this. We’re representing Queen Consolidated right now.”

 

“You seem to be doing fine representing the company on your own, _Felicity,”_ he snaps. “What do you need me for?”  

 

He looms over her, and to her credit, Felicity doesn’t budge even an inch. Nonetheless, he’s still taller, and stronger, and his desire to leave the goddamn room far surpasses any sort of dutiful obligation Felicity thinks he should have for his company. 

 

He bulldozes his way past her, ignores the many phones that are turned his way, clearly recording the entire thing, and does what he should have done hours ago and exits the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble's a-brewin'... 
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	17. Chapter 17

Oliver returns to their hotel room a solid two hours after he stormed out of the presentation. A majority of those two hours had been spent trying to figure out a way to make up for being a complete and utter jackass to Felicity, but in the end all he could come up with was to beg and plead for forgiveness.

 

He knows that he messed up. 

 

He knew it the moment he stepped out through the doors and into the perpetual cheery sunlight of Central City. He let his insecurities get the better of him, let Max fucking Fuller get under his skin and then lashed out unfairly on the one person who has given him her unwavering support from day one. 

 

He’s about the third time through mentally practicing his carefully worded apology by the time he’s at the door to their room, heaving a sigh as he swipes his keycard to unlock it. Felicity’s probably already inside since the presentations for the day ended half an hour ago, and he’s more than prepared to dive right into grovelling at her feet if he has to.

 

Except when the door swings open, Oliver loses the ability to speak. The speech he’d so meticulously practiced vanishes into oblivion the moment he comes face to face with a clearly still pissed-off Felicity sitting at the end of their bed. 

 

Right next to all of her packed bags. 

 

“About time you showed up,” Felicity mutters, breaking the awkward silence that stretches out between them. 

 

Oliver’s still standing half-in and half-out of the doorway, dumbstruck, blinking wordlessly at her. 

 

“I wasn’t going to wait for you.” Felicity gets to her feet, extending the handle of her travel bag and shakes her hair out, all while pointedly not looking at him. “But you turned off your phone and _I_ didn’t think it would be nice to disappear without telling you where I’m going.” 

 

He definitely doesn't miss the sarcasm in her voice. Oh, _hell._

 

“You should know that your stunt back there got us banned from the rest of the symposium so I’m going to go home and try and sort this entire mess out with work. _You_ can do whatever you want with the rest of your time here.”

 

Wait. What? They got kicked out? She’s going _home?_

 

“Hang on. Felicity, I just needed time alone to clear my head,” he says quickly, even though he realises that it’s a flimsy excuse. He moves to block her exit. “Let me explain everything to them, I’m sure I can -” 

 

“I think you’ve done enough, don’t you? Can you please move?” 

 

His heart sinks at the complete detachment in her voice and it’s dawning on him that he’s fucked up even more than he initially thought.

 

“Felicity, I’m sorry,” he pleads, still not letting her pass. He uses his size to his advantage, towering over her in the off chance that will put her off from leaving. “It was stupid, I know, losing it like that. But I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Yeah, you always are,” she mutters under her breath. 

 

He lets that slide, focusing instead on trying to get her to stop attempting to leave. “Felicity, just talk to me -”

 

“Talk to you?” Felicity snaps, _loudly,_ and that’s when Oliver knows Felicity’s had enough. 

 

“You left me in there to deal with the fallout, _alone,_ Oliver! _That_ was when I needed you to talk to me, not now!” she yells, finally, _finally_ looking up at him. The hurt etched all over face is so palpable it makes him rock backwards onto his heels.

 

Felicity shoves her luggage handle back down with so much force it rolls away from her. He expects her to keep yelling, and he braces himself for it. He deserves it, after all. 

 

Except, all Felicity does is blow out a long breath of air, looking up at the ceiling as her eyes flutter shut. 

 

“You know what? You want to do this now? Let’s do this now.” Felicity folds her arms around her chest, an armour around her heart and the symbolism isn’t lost on him.

 

God, that hurts.

 

“Sara told me, you know? About why you suddenly stopped being my friend in high school.” 

 

Oliver tips his head, not anticipating the off-tangent. “What’s Sara got -” 

 

“She told me that Laurel thought I was the nerdy loser in school, and since you wanted to impress _her,_ you decided that it was okay to be a jerk to me because it meant you’d get into Laurel’s good books. It wasn’t that you were _‘intimidated’_ by me,” she scoffs. “Like you said you were in your letter.”   

 

Jesus... fuck. 

 

The truth is that it was a little bit of both. He _was_ intimidated by her  _and_ he wanted to play nice with Laurel, but it wasn’t like he was going to put _‘I’m sorry, but I decided to pick Laurel over you because she was going to have sex with me’_ in his letter was he? 

 

But that aside, _why_ is she bringing that up now? Hadn’t he cleared all this up already? His confusion must manifest physically on his face somehow, because Felicity shakes her head and waves her hand at him dismissively.

 

“Then this thing with our fake relationship? You were willing to lie to everyone, including your _sister,_ about having a girlfriend just because you didn’t want Laurel and Tommy thinking you haven’t moved on from a relationship that ended years ago. I went along with it to stop being harassed, but you... you did it to look good in front of Laurel. _Again.”_

 

Okay, that’s... he’s never thought about it that way, and now that she’s brought it up, he’s starting to see her point. It leaves him with a bitter tinge of regret in his mouth, and it’s on the tip of his tongue to tell her that they’re technically _not lying_ anymore, so what’s the big deal - but that probably won’t go down too well. 

 

He’s still not sure where she’s going with this anyway, but as long as she’s talking she’s not leaving, so he’ll take whatever she dishes out at him willingly. 

 

“And then today, with Max?” she eyes him critically like she’s daring him to contradict her. “What were you trying to prove this time? And to whom?”

 

“What are you getting at, Felicity?” Oliver asks in lieu of an answer since he has none. “What does any of that have to do with you leaving?” he asks, hoping the desperation hasn’t seeped into his voice. 

 

He’s both nervous and frustrated, and it’s not a good combination for him when he’s already so strung out and on the very edge of panicking because Felicity was just about to _leave_ and he absolutely does not want to think about what that means for them.

 

“I messed up, I know, but -”

 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m done trying to convince you that your past doesn’t define you. And I’m _definitely_ done wondering why you seem to care about everyone’s opinion about you, except mine.” 

 

His blood turns cold. 

 

His voice drops into a whisper. “Excuse me?” 

 

What does she mean by _done?_

 

He rakes his eyes over Felicity’s form, taking in the way she’s standing stiffly in front of him, tense, coiled for escape. She clearly doesn't want to be in this situation and suddenly he’s struck by the possibility that once she does walk out the room it could mean she’d be walking out of his _life_... forever. 

 

Oblivious to the bubbling panic building in him, Felicity continues talking. Her voice drops into a low murmur, so very reminiscent of the tone his parents would use on him when he was younger and always finding himself caught up in some mess or another. 

 

_“We’re not angry, Oliver. Just so very disappointed.”_

 

The memory sends chills down his spine. 

 

“I don’t know why doesn’t it matter that _I_ think you’re a good man, a good CEO and a good friend,” she wonders out loud, steadfast in her effort to avoid looking directly at him. He watches as she fidgets on the spot, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. 

 

“Why no matter how many times I tell you that I believe in you and your capabilities, you just... ignore it. You’re so hung up on your past, even though you say you’re not, that you let yourself be manipulated by it and I’m just so tired, Oliver. So tired of feeling like nothing I say matters. Like I don’t matter.”

 

“Of course - _Felicity,_ of course you matter to me,” Oliver insists. His voice cracks the same way his heart does.

 

It doesn’t get a single reaction from her and it hurts, in the most visceral and agonising way, when he realises that it’s because she doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. He wants to laugh - and cry - and the irony of it all. He just figured out that he’s in love with her, wholly and irrevocably, and he’s already losing her.

 

He can feel her slipping through his fingers, closing off and rebuilding the walls around her heart that he thought he’d managed to sneak past over the last couple of months. How long has she felt like this? Why hasn’t she said anything before? 

 

God, he’s an _idiot._ He spent two hours wandering aimlessly through Central City when he should have been right here with her, apologising, and trying to fix the stupid mess that he’s created. But no, he stormed out like a petulant child, leaving her to clean up after him and now Felicity’s packed away all her bags (and it seems, her feelings for him), determined to leave not just the room but him too. 

 

“I tried to look past it, you know?” Felicity says in a devastatingly sad voice that he knows will haunt him for many, many nights to come. “How you’d go out of your way just to impress people like Laurel and Tommy and even that asshole Max Fuller...”

 

“I wasn’t trying to impress him,” he argues. And them promptly shuts his mouth because the look Felicity sends him could level an entire city. 

 

“Well, you didn’t impress anyone today, if that helps,” she snarks. Her shoulders roll forward. “Look, Oliver. I care about you. A lot, -” 

 

He knows there’s a but coming, and he feels his entire body shut down. He tries to move towards her, wills his feet to step forward. To do anything. Anything to keep her from finishing her sentence because the moment she does, he knows it’s over. 

 

“- but you embarrassed me today and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair when you decided to stop being my friend in high school because of Laurel, it wasn’t fair when you had us lying to the whole city about our relationship because you didn’t want to look bad in front of Laurel and it really wasn’t fair that you allowed Max and your insecurities get the better of you today at my expense.”

 

“Felicity, I -” How is he supposed to respond to that? She’s right about _everything._

 

The clarity with which he sees the truth in her assessment is astounding. 

 

“I was humiliated out there. Not just because you insinuated that all I was good for was a _couple of fucks_ \- but my presentation is all but useless now and it’ll be a miracle if we get even one investor interested in our tech.” 

 

Every word that falls from her lips cuts through him like broken glass slicing into his already tattered heart. The conversation (and their relationship, he suspects) is hurtling towards the inevitable end now. He senses it; he hears it in the resignation in her voice, see it in the way her body caves inwards like she’s already given up. 

 

Given up on them. 

 

The notion makes him want to throw up.  

 

“I’m _sorry..._ ” he rasps, feet feeling like lead, his body immovable. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to even start making this up to her. If she’ll even let him.

 

“I know you are,” she says heavily. “Which is why this is... difficult for me.”

 

She ducks her head, clasps both her hands around each other. 

 

“I _know_ you’re trying to move on from your past, Oliver. And I appreciate that.” 

 

He goes numb all over. This - this feels so much worse than any break up he’s been through before. Which is stupid, because he’s only been with Felicity for what feels like a minute, but _God_ \- she means so much more to him than any of the other people he’s ever dated. 

 

Why can’t she see that? 

 

“But like I said, I’m tired of playing the second fiddle to your unresolved issues with _Ollie Queen._ These past two months have been great, and I really do love being with you, but what happened today was... rough, and I can’t help but think that unless you truly move on and get some sort of closure, it’s not fair - for both of us - to... start something while you’re still figuring yourself out. Do you understand?” 

 

She runs her fingers through her hair, eyes clenched shut. Her chest expands as she sucks in a large breath of air.

 

“So I think it’s best if we just... take a break from each other.” 

 

His heart shatters. 

* * *

 

Olicity Watch catches on to their fight immediately. 

 

Felicity, ever the sucker for punishment, has Twitter open the moment she lands in Starling City, and lo and behold, there’s already a picture of her boarding her returning flight from Central City alone making the rounds in the Twittersphere. 

 

The comments and replies to the photo vary from sympathetic to downright abusive and after a few minutes of painful scrolling, she deletes the app and makes her way to the airport exit. 

 

That probably explains the multiple missed calls from Thea, which she definitely doesn't want to deal with at the moment.

 

She’s about to walk through the glass sliding doors towards the cab rank outside, in the middle of formulating a plan of attack for her meeting with the board of directors, when a large hand closes in on her bicep and pulls her away.

 

She yelps, losing her grip on her luggage as she slams into a really hard wall of muscle. “What the-”

 

“There are paparazzi outside,” says John Diggle, letting go of her the moment she regains her footing. “You don’t want to go out there.” 

 

Felicity’s heart swells with gratitude. Her emotions are already out of sorts and she’s hanging on to the last shred of control she has to maintain her composure externally. As she takes in the sight before her; John Diggle, standing guard by the exit with a gentle smile on his face, the dam breaks. 

 

“Dig,” she chokes. She presses her lips together, barely suppressing a sob. “You’re here.” 

 

The big man sighs, shaking his head, and then pulls her in for a tight hug. He smells like doughnuts and coffee and comfort and she sinks into his embrace, feeling the last of her steely resolve melt away as he rubs circles against her back, kissing her forehead. “Of course I’m here, Felicity.”

 

The tears fall freely down her cheeks at the way he says so it naturally, so matter-of-fact like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be - as if he’s not first and foremost _Oliver’s_ friend instead of hers. 

 

She’s held herself together the entire trip back, keeping a vice-like grip on her emotions so she doesn’t break down in the middle of the flight and now, safely in Diggle’s arms, she allows herself to just _feel._

 

And what she feels is sad. Sad that she had to make the decision she did, sad about having to see the heartbreak so clearly on Oliver’s face, sad about _everything._

 

“What’re you doing here?” she mumbles into his shirt, needing to distract herself from her own pathetic sadness. 

 

“Ah... Oliver gave me a heads up that you were coming home early. Said you might need a ride home.” 

 

Felicity pulls back an inch. Swallows the lump in her throat. Even after all that - Oliver still made sure - _fuck._ She schools her features. “Oh, okay.”

 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he assures her as he nods understandingly. “But I am here, if you do want to.” 

 

Felicity shakes her head, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. How is she supposed to talk to John about something she can’t get her own head around yet? 

 

Her day had started with multiple orgasms, for crying out loud. Fast forward several tumultuous hours and she’s now alone in an airport, taking a break from her boyfriend, upset, and right on the edge of a potential meltdown. 

 

How does that even happen to someone? 

 

“No,” she says resolutely. “Nope. Not talking about it.” 

 

“As you wish,” Diggle murmurs, taking her carry-on luggage in his hand. “I’m parked in the loading dock out back. They won’t get us that way.” He tilts his head back towards what Felicity assumes are the paparazzi staking out the exit. 

 

She trails after him silently, almost as if she’s having a strange out-of-body experience. Sure, she’s walking pretty confidently through the airport behind Diggle’s huge bulk but she’s not _there,_ there.  

 

Her head’s a mess, a tangled web of half-formed thoughts that pulls her in a million directions at once. She switches between things like what she’ll have to deal with at work and how to manage the unwanted publicity, all while trying to ignore the persistent ache in her heart whenever she dares to venture into anything Oliver related. 

 

Before she knows it, she’s being bundled into the back of the car. “For what it’s worth,” Diggle comments as he’s buckling himself in, peering at her in the rear view mirror. “I don’t think Oliver meant to hurt you.” 

 

Felicity turns to look out the window, taking in the gloomy Starling City skyline as they drive past the unassuming horde of photographers at the airport exit. 

 

She knows Oliver didn’t mean to hurt her. Of course, she knows that. It doesn’t change the fact that he _did,_ or the fact that his outburst has probably cost them large sums of money that her department could have used and not to mention how flippant he was about getting _a couple of good fucks_ out of her. 

 

She scowls at the reminder. 

 

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it, John,” she responds tersely. 

 

It’s all still too fresh for her to be dissecting any of it with him. Plus, knowing him, he’ll probably have some sage, wise beyond his years kind of advice that will make her feel stupid and childish and honestly, all she wants to do is wallow in self-pity and a tub of mint chip ice cream for a like five hours before she has to deal with anything else. 

 

So what if she wants to mourn the disintegration of a fledgling relationship (and the end of a very short-lived, but really good, sex life)? She’s allowed to, isn’t she? 

 

And then just because the world is cruel in it’s own way, Gwen Stefani’s emotionally affected voice echoes in stereo around her, crooning about _losing her best friend_ and _not believing that this is the end_ and _not speaking_ and wow. _Wow._

 

The words of the song slowly, painfully, start imprinting on her soul like the universe is playing one big fat joke on her. Felicity groans, sinking even further into the plush leather seat. 

  
Yeah, being sad _sucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always darkest before the dawn.
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


	18. Chapter 18

_‘You better be working on fixing this, Oliver. She deserves better.'_

 

Oliver stares at the text message from Diggle, rereading it for what could be the hundredth time since he received it. He’s back in Starling City, hiding out in his apartment because he’s not ready to go back to work and face the music yet.

 

Checking his email when he first got home from Central City had been a mistake. Seeing his inbox littered with words like _lack of professionalism_ and _improper conduct,_ only serves as a cruel reminder of what he now considers one of the worst days he’s had in recent history. He’s dreading the inevitable showdown (what else can it be, at this point) with his colleagues about his behaviour, so if he can put off going into the office for as long as he can, he will. 

 

Besides, the prospect of crossing paths with Felicity at work is terrifying. He’s not sure he won’t just crumble to his feet at the first sight of her - dramatic, but accurate for how feels about his life right now. 

 

He’s in pieces. 

 

Sad, lonely, broken pieces, and he has no one to blame but himself. Everything Felicity had said in their hotel room still lingers with him, striking a chord deep in his psyche that even his therapist had been unable to reach. 

 

It forced him to examine everything he’s done since... well, since his father - then his mother - died.

 

Why did he write those letters?

 

Why ask Felicity to be his fake girlfriend? 

 

Why keep up the pretense for so long?  

 

Did he really want the job that was waiting for him at Queen Consolidated?

 

Did he say yes to shadowing Walter because of, as Felicity had so eloquently put it, his _‘unresolved issues with Ollie Queen’_? 

 

He knows he’s been dragging his feet about taking over as CEO, and for the most part it’s due to the constant nagging voice in his head that keeps telling him that he’s not good enough to do it. On the other hand, there’s Felicity, who’s told him over and over again that it’s not about being good enough (even though she believes he is), it’s about the willingness to try.

 

And he is. Willing, that is. He likes the work, if he’s being honest with himself. He has ideas and plans about where he wants the company to go, and both Felicity and Walter are huge advocates for his clean energy initiative, so why - _damn,_ now that he allows himself the time to sort through the mess in his head - why the _hell_ did he allow someone like Max fucking Fuller to get under his skin like he did?

 

God. He’s making his own head hurt. 

 

What an absolute, colossal, fucking mess. 

 

He presses one of his couch cushions over his face, yelling into the soft material out of frustration. Which turns out to be a mistake because his cushion smells like _her_ \- from the night she spent on his couch after making out with him for hours - and reliving the memory only serves to worsen his mood. 

 

_Fuck._

 

And then his doorbell rings. 

 

Oliver glances at the clock above his television, wondering who would turn up at his place at three in the afternoon on a weekday. It rings again, and Oliver peels himself off the couch reluctantly. 

 

“I’m coming!” he grumbles. 

 

Could be Thea, could be Diggle. Both equally likely to turn up unannounced just to rip a new one into him, which he wholly deserves. 

 

The person at the door however, isn’t Thea nor Diggle and when he does see who it is, he damn near slams the door shut in her face in a fit of frustration. 

 

“What are you doing here, Laurel?” Oliver grunts, not putting any effort into hiding his disappointment.

 

He doesn’t budge from the door, stretching one hand out over to the other side of the door jamb so Laurel doesn’t get any ideas about inviting herself inside. 

 

“You look terrible,” is her response, accompanied by a twist of her lips, and a quick wriggle of her nose. “You smell it too.”

 

“Gee thanks,” Oliver mutters. “If that’s all, then you can just -”

 

Laurel huffs and shakes her head while she rolls her eyes. It’s such a familiar move that sends a shudder of nervousness down his spine. Yeah, he’s so not in the mood for this. 

 

“Did you really break up with Felicity?” she asks, slipping a foot between the doorway and the door he’s just about to close in her face. She’s got that defiant, ‘stubborn bull’ air about her. It’s what makes her such a good lawyer, but a very annoying person in general. “Or is this just another one of your little fights that Olicity Watch has blown out of proportion and you guys are actually okay?” 

 

 _“Little -_ wha - Laurel.” Sighing, Oliver gives up and yanks the door open. News travels way too fast here. “What does that have to do with anything? With _you?”_  

 

He watches as Laurel casts a look around his apartment, then pinches her lips as she reserves her comments about it. Her presence in his home is unnerving. Like his past and present superimposing themselves over each other, but not quite fitting together as they should. 

 

“Laurel, what are you doing here?” he asks again. He’s wary of what she wants, and with him still hurting from Felicity’s absence from his life, Laurel being here is absolutely the last thing he wants to deal with at the moment. 

 

His gut twists at the possibility that Laurel’s here to try and get back together with him at the news of his break up. He thinks back to when she barged into Felicity’s office almost two months ago now, waving that damned letter in her hand, and he swallows the dread that’s climbing up his throat.

 

“You’re getting married this weekend,” he says, just in case she needed the reminder. “Shouldn’t you be... I don’t know. Busy with all of that?” 

 

“That’s why I’m here, Oliver,” she says over an exasperated sigh. “Why couldn’t you have broken up after the wedding? Do you know how much rearranging I’ll have to do with the seating chart now?”

 

“Broken up after the wedding?” Oliver repeats under his breath, mostly to himself, since Laurel’s preoccupied with pacing back and forth in his living room. Is she _serious?_ Does she think he _chose_ to break up with Felicity? 

 

“Now she probably won’t even come anymore, because of _you_ , which means I’ve over-catered, and there might be an empty seat at a table, ruining the aesthetic -”

 

Oliver sputters, “Wh - The _aesthetic?!”_

 

“- and I don't have time to reshuffle the seating if she _does_ decide to come, so can you just get back together? Why are you always screwing things up for me?” She ends on a huff, her piercing voice echoing through the room. Hands on her hips, she stares at him as if she really expects an answer.

 

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

 

It sounds like Laurel wants him to get back together with Felicity. Laurel, who had disliked Felicity from way back when they were all in high school. He can’t quite put what Laurel’s trying to achieve here, and he’s just so goddamn confused because - 

 

“You’re not here to get back together with me?” he asks dumbly, blinking at his ex. 

 

“Get back together with you?!” Laurel all but screeches at him. “Oliver Jonas Queen, are you _insane?”_

 

Honestly, he thinks he might be. 

 

“I’m getting married to your best friend. And you thought I was here to - _oh my god,_ Oliver!” 

 

“Hey!” he barks, indignant and frustrated. “I’m sorry, but you’ve - you’ve done this before. And back when you got my letter you marched right into Felicity’s office like you wanted to -”

 

“The letter that you wrote about _‘maybe loving me once’_ and how _‘you'll always love me’_ that I had to make sure Tommy never read because it might have broken _us_ up? I didn’t want to get back together with you, Oliver. I wanted you to back the hell off.” 

 

Oliver swallows, embarrassment flooding his entire system. 

 

“All this time you were with Felicity, did you think I wanted to get back together with you?” she asks. “Was she some sort of... placeholder girlfriend?” 

 

“She’s not a placeholder girlfriend!" he protests weakly. 

 

He only lied so that no one thought he was still hung up about Laurel, but he can’t deny that a little, tiny part of him had assumed Laurel would have jumped at the opportunity to get back together with him had he been open to it.

 

He’s a terrible person. 

 

The hole he’s dug for himself only grows and the tangle of lies he had woven around himself over the past two months tightens like a noose around his neck. 

 

Laurel mistakes his hesitance as confirmation of her suspicions and she scoffs, disappointment clear in her features. “You thought that I wanted to be with you despite being engaged to your best friend? Is that how little you think of me? Ollie, that’s a new level of low, even for you.” 

 

“That’s not what I think at all,” he tries to defend himself, but short of revealing the lie about his relationship with Felicity, he doesn't know how to continue. 

 

Laurel just shakes her head. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m happy with Tommy, Oliver. I made my peace with our history a long time ago, but maybe you haven’t and that’s on you. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, about your break up. Clearly I made a mistake coming here trying to get you two back together. But maybe it was for the best. For Felicity, at least.” 

 

In a bitter twist of fate, it appears that her sentiments echo those of Felicity’s when she’d raked him over coal in their hotel room, and they’re delivered with the same exact resignation in her voice. His past and his present mistakes, merging seamlessly to taunt him. 

 

Oliver Queen, disappointing everyone in his life, one ex-girlfriend at a time. 

 

What else is new? 

 

“I just want you to be happy, Oliver. You seemed like you were, with Felicity.” 

 

“I was.” The admission makes the ache in his chest worse. Happier than he’d been in months. And he’s sure Felicity was happy too. 

 

“Then maybe you should focus on that - on what makes _you_ happy - instead of focusing on what you think will make other people happy. And stop stringing Felicity along. That girl’s had a crush on you since she was fifteen, for God’s sake. Either cut her loose, or make an actual effort and _fight_ for her if that’s what you want.” 

 

Laurel drops that bomb on him without so much as a blink of an eye or a smidgen of concern for the way Oliver’s heart sinks like lead to the bottom of his stomach. 

 

“Since she was fifteen?” he repeats hoarsely. Why - Did everyone know this? Was he the only one who didn’t?  

 

“You’re something else,” Laurel scoffs, reading him easily. She pinches the bridge of her nose and spells it out for him.  “I’m not proud of it, but why do you think I had such a problem with her back in high school, Oliver? She was so ridiculously smart and adorable. Everyone loved her - hell, even _Sara_ liked her more than she liked me. Then she started tutoring you and it was so _obvious,_ Oliver.”

 

Talking to him like a child does nothing to aid his comprehension, and while he’s still going over the implications of Felicity crushing on him while _he_ was secretly crushing on _her_ way back when, Laurel runs out of patience with him. 

 

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I hope you sort it out soon. You can’t go punching everyone you don’t like in the face. I don’t know if your company can take another scandal, you know?”

 

She lets out an unforgiving, exasperated sigh and just as suddenly as she appeared at his doorstep, Laurel whips around and marches past him, leaving him dumbfounded as she makes her way out of his apartment. 

 

Her hand closes around the doorknob, poised to exit, before she turns around one last time to face him.

 

“Also, you’re still Tommy’s best man, so don’t even think about not coming to the wedding.” 

* * *

 

Felicity can’t remember the first time she met Sara Lance. It would have been at school at some point, but being a couple of years ahead of her peers, they hardly crossed paths. What she does remember though, is that Sara was always the more approachable sister between the two Lances. Funnier. Not necessarily cooler, because Laurel oozed ‘cool’, but the younger Lance had always been nice to her and in Felicity’s books, that counted for a lot of cool points. 

 

A few years and a couple of Masters degrees later, Felicity stumbled, quite literally, into Sara again in Starling, and their friendship blossomed. Starling wouldn't have been half as much fun without Sara there with her at the start, that much she’ll admit, but sometimes, _sometimes_ \- like now, for instance - she thinks her life would be so much easier had they not had that chance second meeting. 

 

"I swear to God, Felicity, I will stop talking to you forever!” 

 

Felicity buries her head in her arms and groans. exhausted and utterly done with Sara’s dramatics. 

 

“You’re talking about this like it’s the end of the world, and it’s not.” 

 

“You can’t leave me alone with those hoity-toity, snobby jerks for the entire day, Felicity,” Sara whines. “You RSVP-ed yes. You can’t just not turn up. Laurel will hate you.”

 

“Laurel already hates me,” Felicity retorts. "Moot point."

 

“Well, okay, harsh, but okay.” Sara frowns. “That’s a fair call. But also, it’s really bad etiquette to cancel on a wedding last minute, so.” 

 

It’s laughable that Sara suddenly cares about wedding etiquette, and frankly, highly suspicious. Felicity narrows her eyes. “You’ll be with the bridal party the whole time anyway, Sara. Where will I be? Sitting alone, being whispered about by everyone and honestly, I’d rather use Bing than subject myself to that kind of scrutiny.”

 

“I don’t know what that means, but come _oooon,”_ Sara moans, then sinks to her knees in front of Felicity, peering up at her with big, pleading eyes. “You and Oliver aren’t even really broken up, though, right? You told him you were just taking a break. So maybe you guys can make nice for the day and sit together and -”

 

She can’t help the tinge of bitterness in her words as they leave her lips. “ _Oliver_ thinks we’re done for good.”

 

Apparently, ‘ _we need to take a break from each other’_ translated to _‘we’re breaking up’_ in Oliver’s books. She found that out the hard way when she watched Oliver on the news being harassed by reporters outside Queen Consolidated as he attempted to get inside. 

 

A day after Oliver’s self-imposed exile, he returned to work like everything was _normal_ (how dare he not feel as miserable as she is?!) and had the gall to give an impromptu statement to the press.

 

 _‘All good things must come to an end. And maybe there’s something to be said about dating your co-worker, you know?’,_ he’d said with that fake cajoling smile of his, perfected for the media over the years. _‘Fortunately, we’re both adults and professionals, and you can rest assured our working relationship at Queen Consolidated will not be affected by this.’_

 

It was almost believable too, except she’s not an idiot and she can tell when he’s telling bold face lies. 

 

For one, he called in sick the day after their ‘break up’ and refused to respond to any emails, leaving her alone to deal with the fallout of his mess. Real _professional,_ Oliver. And when he did eventually turn up at work, he locked himself in his office, scheduling back to back meetings the entire day, carefully avoiding anything to do with her.

 

 _Professional adults._ Sure.

 

It’s not like she expected him to wait at her window with a boombox begging her to take him back, but for all of his earnestness and excitement at not having to pretend anymore, he sure didn’t put up much of a fight when she walked away from him in Central City. 

 

Sara scoffs loudly and the sound pulls her out of her misery for a brief moment. “Look, we both know that Oliver’s super dense about matters of the heart. You just need to-” 

 

“I don’t _need_ to do anything, Sara.” Felicity stands up and grabs her glass of water, heading to her kitchen. She sends Sara a pointed look over her back. “ _Least_ of all go to a wedding that I was only invited to because of Oliver, so can we please drop this?” 

 

She hears Sara follow her into the kitchen clearly not heeding her request to leave the subject well enough alone. Bowing her head over her sink, Felicity waits for it. 

 

“I know I can’t make you do anything, but I think in this case, you owe it to yourself, and your happiness, to at least talk to him about it. You’re miserable, and he’s miserable -”

 

Her head shoots up and she meets Sara’s gaze with intense curiosity. “How do you know he’s miserable?” 

 

Sara smirks and her face lights up like she’s won some secret competition with herself. “‘Cause he’s buried himself in his work, and if Oliver’s choosing work over... well virtually anything else, then he’s clearly punishing himself for something which means he’s _miserable.”_

 

Her logic is sound, even though Felicity knows that Oliver enjoys his work a lot more than he likes to let on. So, okay, they’re both miserable, she can concede that. But it doesn’t change the fact that he just gave up on them. 

 

It doesn’t escape her that she hit the pause button on them first - but still. He could have at least clarified what ‘taking a break’ meant before announcing to the entire world that they were over. 

 

“Maybe if he didn’t put words in my mouth he would be less miserable.” Felicity scowls. “Asshole.”

 

“So... shouldn't you sort this out with Oliver once and for all? You can talk to him about it if you go to the wedding,” Sara prods, reading her like an open book. Sara sidles up to her, smiling softly. “Besides, you already bought your dress and you can’t let that go to waste.” 

 

“Well...” Talking to him _would_ be nice now that she’s had a few days to calm down and reorganise her thoughts.

 

If they manage to hash things out it would also mean that she doesn’t have to be so wary at work anymore. And it would be nice to salvage their friendship, if being romantically involved is no longer in the picture, no matter how much her heart aches at the thought..

 

“Ugh,” Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, biting her bottom lip before sighing in defeat. “Fine.”

 

Sara whoops in delight, nearly knocking the glass of water out of her hand when she envelopes Felicity in a tight hug. 

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! And don’t worry, if I hear anyone whispering about you behind your back, I’ll beat them up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments last chapter, I love you all so much! xo  
> Twitter: @griever_11


	19. Chapter 19

Thea makes a racket as she stomps into his apartment. Not subtle at all, that one. He hears the flinging of her bag, the removal of her heels and then finally, the annoyed muttering as she yanks open the door to his bedroom. 

 

“You’re the worst. I was getting ready too you know.” 

 

He looks at her reflection in the mirror, a vision of class and elegance in her red, floor length Vera Wang gown. He grins at the sight. She’s so grown up. “You look like you’re ready, Speedy. Come help me out.” 

 

Hovering by the doorway, she folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head. “One, is that a smile I see? And two, I thought you’d be getting ready with the other groomsmen?” 

 

Oliver hums under his breath, untying his bowtie, letting the two ends hang down on either side of his collar before turning around to face his sister. 

 

“Uh, I don’t think I’ve been forgiven for ducking out of Tommy’s bachelor’s party early last night so I thought I’d give the others some time to cool off. Can you come here and help me out or not?” 

 

Truth is, he doesn’t really need her help at all. He’s been tying his own bow ties since he was six and he can do it in his sleep, but he hasn’t seen his sister in a while and he misses her. It’s his fault; he’s been moping, for lack of a better word, and when he stopped that, he got caught up with stuff at work and this is the first opportunity he’s had since Central City for him to just slow down and take a breath. 

 

“You don’t need help with this. Tell me why am I really here,” she demands as she walks up to him and starts fiddling with his collar anyway. “And did I hear that right? You left Tommy’s party early? That’s weird for you, almost as weird as you being unusually smiley right now. Not that I’m complaining, of course. I like it when you’re not grumpy.” 

 

He lifts his chin, giving her more room to manoeuvre. He almost lets slip that Felicity used to say that she preferred him when he wasn’t grumpy too, but he catches himself just in time. Felicity’s a topic that he doesn’t want to broach with Thea just yet, knowing how much Thea likes her and would have undoubtedly been devastated with their break up. 

 

Instead, he decides to tell her the other news he’s had to keep to himself over the last couple of days. “I figured some stuff out recently and I’m feeling good about it.”

 

Thea takes a step back, scrutinising him carefully. “Does it have something to do with why you’re at work so much now? ‘Cause the media is eating up the whole ‘repentant Oliver Queen paying his dues’ thing since the whole punching saga, but you’ve never really cared about that so I know you’re not doing it for the publicity.”

 

Oliver sits down on the edge of his bed, patting the space next to him as an invitation. “Yeah, it’s about work.” 

 

She eyes the bed begrudgingly before sitting down next to him. “O-kay...”

 

“I accepted the CEO position at QC.” He goes straight for the truth, unable to contain the news to himself any longer. “We’re finalizing the paperwork right now, but as of next week it’ll be official.” 

 

He gets the breath knocked out of his chest when Thea launches herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck and she squeals in his ear. “Ollie, yes! This is great news!” 

 

Now that the cat’s out of the bag, he finds that he’s unable to stop the excitement and giddiness that spills from his lips in an uncontrollable torrent of words. 

 

“I told the board that I was sorry for what happened at the Palmer Tech symposium and that I wanted to step up and take full responsibility for it. Starting with putting on my big boy pants and finally accepting the CEO position. There’s no point delaying it, and an apology from the CEO of the company bears more weight than the shadow-CEO anyway. They agreed, eventually, after a lot of back and forth with Walter and myself. I haven’t been able to tell anyone about this, and you’re the first person who knows, outside of the board.”

 

In an ideal world, Felicity would have been the first person he told but of course he’d gone and fucked that up. He still tried though, because she’d been so supportive and amazing and he felt like she had a right to know. 

 

Despite his efforts in trying to find her, she’d been suspiciously absent from work when he visited her department, her assistant claiming that she’d been working from home lately.

 

“Oliver.” Thea pulls back, eyes shining. She hardly ever calls him by his full first name, so when she uses all three syllables now, it makes him feel special. “Oh, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do this.”

 

“Yeah, it’s about time I grew up, don’t you think? It’s what mom and dad would have wanted.”

 

“And you’re sure this is what _you_ want too?” 

 

He doesn’t hesitate when he nods in confirmation. “I had a couple of days to think about this and yeah, it is. I like what I’m doing, even if that’s a little hard to believe. Felicity -”

 

Huh, saying her name out loud is still... rough. He clears his throat. “Felicity always knew. She knew before I did. But I get it now. And if feels really good knowing that this is what I want.” 

 

“Mmhm.” Thea gets the tell-tale twinkle in her eye that tells him she’s on to him, and then she pulls her legs up onto his bed and pokes him in his chest. 

 

“There’s more to this than you’re letting on,” she murmurs. “You’re gonna take this newfound CEO confidence thing to win Felicity back, aren’t you? That’s the other thing you’ve figured out. Please. Please, say yes.” 

 

Nailed it in one. 

 

“It is,” he tells her truthfully. His honesty takes her by surprise, lips parting open over a slight gasp. “She makes me happy. Like, crazy happy, Thea, and I didn’t even realise that until I lost her. God, I’m an idiot.” 

 

“Yeah, I know.” She rolls her eyes. “What’s your plan here? Felicity’s smart, she’s not going to fall at your feet just because you’ve decided to get your life in order, y’know.” 

 

Oliver shrugs. “The last time I came up with a plan, it turned out to be the dumbest thing I ever did.” He doesn’t elaborate on that any further, which makes Thea arch her eyebrows at him curiously. “I’m just going to be honest and talk to her. Felicity likes words. I’ll see her at the wedding later, and I’ll -”

 

“Small problem, big bro,” Thea interjects, climbing out of his bed frowning. 

 

She runs her hands down her dress, checking for wrinkles before looking back at him with genuine concern on her face. “She has no reason to even be at the wedding now that you two are broken up. Olicity Watch says she hasn’t even been at work the last two days -”

 

“I have that covered Speedy, don’t you worry.” He grins sheepishly at her, digging his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up his recent messages and hands the phone over to Thea so she can read it for herself.

 

The last text he had received was from Sara late last night after he’d made a very desperate, groveling, pleading call to her as a last resort. 

 

_‘Got her to change her mind. You owe me big time. Asshole.'_

* * *

 

By the time both Tommy and Laurel finish reciting their vows, Oliver’s a bundle of nervous energy. He nearly fumbles with the ring, doesn’t even remember half of the ceremony if he’s being honest with himself, and Sara’s shooting him dirty looks from across the dais because she obviously knows his attention isn’t rightfully on the bride and groom.

 

His furtive glances around the room doesn’t go unnoticed by the younger Lance, and more than once she’s had to mouth at him to _‘Stop it, Oliver!’_ but how is he supposed to do that when the object of his inattentiveness is nowhere to be seen?

 

Felicity isn’t _here._

 

She wasn’t among the guests who were milling about the church’s entrance when he first arrived, and she wasn’t seated in the pews when they started walking down the aisle either. He knows that for a fact because he was so distracted searching for her face among the crowd that he nearly tripped and would have landed on his face had he not caught himself in time. 

 

So. _No Felicity,_ despite what Sara had promised him. Liar. 

 

He scowls at her and she sticks her tongue out at him. Then her fingers make a fist, flipping him off behind the bouquet of flowers she’s holding and she tilts her chin sharply towards the couple between them sharing their first kiss as man and wife.

 

Oliver just rolls his eyes.

 

He’s happy for Laurel and Tommy, of course he is. What he can’t help, however, is the sinking feeling simmering just under his skin that maybe he's too late, and that he's lost his chance and all of it is making him jittery and jumpy and _yes_ so what if he’s looking back at the church doors every thirty seconds expecting it to burst open to reveal a late-to-arrive Felicity? 

 

“Get a hold of yourself, for God’s sake,” Sara’s voice cuts through his thoughts, startling him. He blinks and shakes his head, finally realising that the now married Lance-Merlyn couple is walking down the aisle and he’s meant to be following them along with the rest of the wedding party. 

 

Oliver yelps as he feels Sara’s bony elbow nudge him in his side. “You can at least pretend to look happy for your best friend.” 

 

“I _am_ happy,” he insists, eyes darting from the face of one guest to another. Still nothing. No sign of Felicity anywhere. 

 

“Jesus, she’s really got you all twisted up, hasn’t she?” Sara mutters quietly. There’s no need for either of them to clarify who ‘she’ is. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

 

“Why would you tell me that she’d be here, Sara?” Oliver hisses, not making any effort to hide how disgruntled he is. He doesn’t like how he’s feeling right now, like the hope he’d been holding on to all day is winking out of existence, despair slowly creeping into the hole in his heart that Felicity left when she... _left._  

 

“I wanted to talk to her. I was going to-”

 

“Profess your undying love to her right in the middle of Laurel’s wedding? That’s a dumb move, Ollie.” Sara rolls her eyes at him. “Besides, Felicity’s still angry at you, you know? Since you broke up with her _on TV,_ which is _so_ many times worse than over text, FYI.” 

 

Oliver stops in his tracks. He replays what Sara just said, frowning, stunned to his core. Fortunately for him, the rest of the guests have started pouring out of the church, heading towards the reception hall next door and no one pays him any mind.

 

“I _what_ now?” 

 

But Sara’s long gone, having joined the rest of the wedding guests outside and Oliver’s left on his own. His voice echoes through the now empty church. 

 

“She broke up with _me!”_

* * *

 

Like a real sucker for punishment, Oliver sequesters himself into a corner of the ballroom where the reception is being held, away from the general public, and starts going through his phone like a man starved. 

 

He starts with his photo album, his insides twisting with every iteration of Felicity’s grinning face staring back at him from his screen. He pauses at one he doesn’t remember taking; of Felicity lounging on her couch, sticking her tongue out at him as she shields half her face with a slice of pizza. 

 

God, she’s beautiful.

 

Every image he scrolls past sears yet another brand of shame on his skin, brutally reminding of how he let one of the best things in his life slip right through his fingers. 

 

And then just to add insult to injury, he pulls up his text thread between the two of them, reliving the moments that accompany each message that Felicity’s sent him, from some of the most recent ones at the symposium: 

 

_‘Don’t know where you are, gotta go backstage for my presentation. Keep wowing everyone like I know you can, I’ll be right back.’_

 

 _‘Ugh this guy is so boring, let’s leave after I’m done and have more sex ;)’_ (He scrolls right past this one because he doesn’t need his heart broken all over again at the memory of exactly how badly he fucked up that day.)

 

And then he scrolls right up to some of the earliest: 

 

_‘Thanks for lunch! Hope the spreadsheet I sent made sense, if not let me know and I’ll come by and explain it again!’_

 

_‘Does Thea think I’m weird? I don’t want her to think her brother’s fake!dating some weirdo. I just didn't know what to say in the car, which is weird in itself because I usually can’t stop talking and words are my secret power but maybe. No, okay. Please tell her I’m not some gold digger trying to use her family’s name for my own personal benefit._

 

Contrary to what Felicity thought at the time, Thea actually found Felicity to be a delight and now that they’re broken up, one of his biggest regrets (besides actually being broken up) is possibly ruining the relationship between the two women. 

 

He keeps scrolling, sinking deeper and deeper into his self-made pool of creeping melancholia, until he arrives at the series of texts that makes manages to elicit a small upturn in the corner of his lips. 

 

_‘Do you want to come over and watch Ironman with me?’_

 

_‘It’s okay if you don’t.’_

 

_‘It’s just that you said you haven’t watched any of them and that’s a crime and you already know how great my couch is so at the very least you’ll be comfortable.’_

 

_‘You’re probably busy. Not everyone has quiet Saturday nights. Goodnight Oliver!’_

 

He had said yes to the invitation instantly, and it ended up being the first of many movie nights they shared together. 

 

What if he never gets to have another movie night with her? What if he never hears another off tangent babble about how similar he is to Tony Stark, or how Hermione is the one who should be the hero of the Harry Potter series?

 

He blanches at the thought, a chill travelling down his spine. He can’t _\- won’t_ \- let it come to that. He’s determined to fix his mess, and if she still doesn’t want to be in a relationship with him after that, he’ll work on being friends. He can’t imagine living the rest of his -

 

“Your face is gonna freeze that way y’know.” 

 

His head snaps up and blinks at the swirl of red in front of him. “Thea. Hey.” 

 

“Why are you all the way over here?” she asks as she pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to him. “Why are you _moping_ like it’s the end of the world when your best friend just got married?” she adds after a beat, playing coy. The sidelong glance she sends his way indicates she knows exactly why he’s miserable. 

 

“I’m not moping,” he mumbles as he tucks his phone into his pocket with a dejected sigh. Thea merely stares at him pointedly, and he revises his statement. “Okay I was, but I’m not anymore, starting from right now.” 

 

Thea’s right; Tommy’s wedding isn’t the best place to relive the tragedy that was his short-lived relationship with Felicity. He can set aside his dumb feelings for the moment. Tommy deserves more than the shell of a best friend on one of the happiest nights of his life. 

 

“Yeah, uh huh. Just in time too,” Thea grins, eyebrows dancing. 

 

“What are you-” 

 

He hears her before he sees her. 

 

The familiar tinkle of Felicity’s laughter reaches him like a chorus of angels singing, and he whips his head around so fast he nearly falls off his chair. Thea’s amused laughter fades into the background as everything slows down around him the moment he catches sight of her. 

 

She’s talking to Sara, animatedly waving her hands as they greet each other. The last vestiges of hope that had been all but snuffed out before roars back to life, singing in his blood, breathing life back into him. He scrambles to his feet, not taking his eyes off her just in case his mind is playing tricks on him. 

 

But Thea’s barely suppressed giggle from behind him indicates that she’s not a hallucination, and that Felicity Smoak, literal light of his life, is in fact standing not more than a few feet away from him. 

 

Her hair shimmers like gold silk under the fairy lights strewn all over the room, falling past her shoulders and her dress - wow, her dress. 

 

It’s a strapless gold number that clings to her body like a second skin. The top, just above her chest, is made of sheer lace, giving him a tantalising view of her cleavage that disappears under the rest of it that ends just above her knees. It gives him a glorious view of her legs, further accentuated by the ridiculously sharp stilettos strapped on her feet.

 

“Close your mouth, God, you’re so embarrassing,” Thea snickers as she smacks his shoulder. When he turns around affronted, she merely shrugs and then shoves him away from her with a wink.  “What are you waiting for? Go get her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go!


	20. Chapter 20

“You gonna get out or what, Miss?” 

 

Felicity glares at her cabbie’s reflection in the rear view mirror. She just... needs a moment, can’t he see that? “In a second. You can keep the meter running, if you want.” 

 

That seems to keep him happy for now, but she knows she can’t hide in the cab forever. She’s already skipped out on the wedding ceremony and there’s no way Sara will forgive her if she misses the reception too. Her phone’s already inundated with a lot of unopened messages that no doubt consist of capital letters and exclamation marks. 

 

“You ah, gonna crash this wedding?” the cabbie asks, his curiosity piqued. He runs a hand through his hair. “Is this some kind of YouTube prank thing, do I have to sign an NDA?” 

 

“What?” Felicity frowns. Clearly, she’s been stalling in the cab for far too long. “No. No, it’s not a prank. I’m just -okay, I’ll go. Thanks. Sorry for making you wait.”

 

Her chest expands as she sucks in a deep, calming breath. Pulling a couple of bills out of her clutch, she hands them over with an apologetic grin. “Keep the change,” she instructs before stepping out. 

 

The upside of being late - only fashionably late, she tells herself - is that almost everyone’s already inside busy mingling among themselves, which means she manages to walk into the ballroom relatively unnoticed. 

 

It gives her time to take in the decorations; elegant and beautiful and fitting for the celebrated couple. A jazz band plays tasteful music in a corner, quiet enough that it doesn’t drown out the buzz of idle chitchat around her. 

 

The tables are numbered, and a brief glance at the seating chart by the entrance makes her immediately wary. Laurel’s put her on the same table as Thea, and she doesn’t know what the younger Queen thinks of her right now, post-breakup and all. 

 No one knows she's here yet, so if she really wants to, she could still leave. But then she thinks of the persistent hollow ache in her heart that hasn’t gone away since leaving Oliver in Central City and she changes her mind. 

 

She owes it to herself to sort this out. She wants to confront her lingering issues over Oliver’s actions (both past and present), not to mention give Oliver a piece of her mind about his unilateral decision to break up their relationship. And then, if they _do_ stay broken up after all of that, at least this time it’ll be a decision she’s a part of. 

 

The thought of cementing their breakup is sobering, but it also implies that there’s a chance that they won’t stay broken up once they hash everything out and well... 

 

Yeah, one thing at a time. 

 

_“Felicity Smoak!”_

 

She cringes at the call of her name, recognising Sara’s voice cutting sharply through the hum of conversation around her.

 

“Where the _hell_ has that perfect ass of yours been all day?! I’ve sent you a million messages!”

 

“Shouldn’t you be with your sister?” Felicity deflects, since she’s sure Sara won’t accept ‘I didn’t want to have to see Tommy and Laurel celebrating their absolute happiness while I’m completely miserable’ as an adequate answer.

 

“My lovely sister is best enjoyed in small, _small_ doses. You know that. Besides, if I were with her I wouldn’t have found you and wow, _look_ at you! God, you’re gorgeous. Great dress, great colour. Almost bridal white, but not quite - did you pick this one on purpose to piss Laurel off? A plus for effort.” 

 

Felicity winces. Oh, crap. 

 

It never crossed her mind that her understated gold dress would be an issue, but of course, they’re talking about Laurel Lance here. She looks down at her dress, and okay, right, it’s very clearly gold, but under the light, one could confuse it with creamy white and that could get her in a lot of trouble.

 

Damn it! This isn’t even her fault in the first place. _Oliver_ wanted them to match and his best man’s bow tie happened to be gold so he asked if she had any gold dresses lying around that she could wear. At the time she thought it was cute and utterly adorable that he wanted them to match so she said yes, and _now_ look where that’s got her. 

 

“Oh, no,” she whispers fearfully, hands sliding down her dress as if that will magically change its colour. She gulps. “I didn't think about that at all! Sara, what if Laurel -”

 

“I’m kidding, Felicity,” Sara cuts her off with a wave of a hand. “Jeez, you’re wound up even more than usual today. She’s not going to care, I promise. C’mere, give me a hug.” 

 

Relief bubbles up through her in the form of a bark of laughter and she sinks into Sara’s welcoming embrace, glad that at least one person at this wedding still likes her. 

 

“Not the only person who still likes you, you know,” Sara drawls as she pulls away and Felicity realises belatedly that her mouth has run away from her again. Sara nudges her, coaxing her to make a half-turn around as she whispers into her ear. 

 

“Oliver’s been absolutely insufferable all day because he thought you weren't coming.” 

 

“Oliver doesn’t even -” Her protest dies on her lips because as if talking about him has summoned him out of thin air, he appears in front of her, looking all hot and handsome and downright delicious, and a little bit frazzled. 

 

He fills out his suit so well, the shape and cut emphasising his solid build, the wide frame of his shoulders tapering into the slant of his hips. The buttons on his suit are undone and she catches a glimpse of what appears to be a pair of suspenders. Mmm.

 

She drags her gaze upwards, finally daring to meet his gaze. It seems that her appraisal of him hasn’t gone unnoticed if the slight hitch of his breath and the blush on his face is anything to go by. Oliver’s staring into her in return, like he’s searching for entire galaxies in her eyes. She hasn’t seen him in person for what feels like an eternity, and yet the longing and desperation in his body language echoes of familiarity, and she realises it's probably because it’s the same combination of emotions _she’s_ feeling right now. 

 

“Oh, will you look at that," Sara's voice cuts through the palpable silence "Time to go see if Laurel needs me. Byeeeee!” Her traitorous blonde, soon to be ex-friend scoots past Felicity, throwing an exaggerated wink Oliver’s way before she disappears into the crowd. 

 

“Not subtle, is she?” Oliver comments ruefully. His fingers twitch by his side, which Felicity recognises as a sign that he’s moderately uncomfortable with the situation. 

 

Felicity waits him out, wondering if he’ll say anything more. If he’ll try and make up for everything that’s happened between them, or if he’ll apologise for breaking up with her without actually breaking up with her. Except that seconds go by and he doesn’t, and he seems content to just stand there staring at her. 

 

Well, _fine._ Lips pursed, Felicity pulls her shoulders back and nods at him. “So. I’m going to go find my table and-”

 

Her dismissal appears to kick Oliver into gear, because he startles out of his reverie and reaches out to her, his fingers curling around her wrist in a desperate attempt to stop her from moving away.

 

“No, _please,_ Felicity. Wait.” 

 

When she looks up from his hand to look at him properly, she’s stunned by the intense blueness staring back at her. 

 

“Please, can we talk? I won’t take too much of your time,” he pleads. His tone is soft, so very polite, but laced with an unexpected steel edge of determination.

 

Hope flutters in her chest; a fragile, baby thing that she’s tried to stamp out since she made her decision to come to the wedding. She’s not as naive to think that this sudden willingness to communicate will soothe the ever-present ache in her chest but... it’s a start, right? It’s what she came here for after all.

 

“Um.” She licks her lips slowly as she slides her hand out of his. Caution dictates that she takes her time to think about this. They’re in public, and while most of the attention will undoubtedly be on the newly married couple, she’s sure they’re still going to be watched very closely. 

 

Oliver just stands there blinking at her, quite possibly holding his breath for an answer, looking like a goddamn GQ model come to life with his scruff and his hair that would have taken him way too long to perfect how _not perfect_ it looks, buzzing with what must be a combination of nerves and tentative eagerness and if she’s not mistaken, a hint of excitement. 

 

Interesting.  

 

She decides to take pity on him. Besides, she wanted to sort things out between them too, didn’t she? 

 

“Okay, yeah, we can talk.” 

 

The smile that he bestows upon her only increases the churning in her stomach and now more than ever, she realises just how acutely she misses him. She’s always been good at compartmentalizing her feelings and her well honed instincts for self-preservation meant that she’d locked up everything Oliver-related since their break up behind a solid mental door. Except now, face to face with him, that door feels like it’s about to fall right off its hinges.

 

Seeing him only reminds her of the stark emptiness she’d been living with recently, bereft of his smile, and his laugh and his daily updates on his life and God - his _food._

 

“Not here,” Oliver remarks, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “C’mon.” 

 

She lets him take her hand again, lacing their fingers together as he leads her away from the ballroom. He expertly weaves through the tables, garnering more than a few curious glances from the other guests, until they come to a set of double doors with ‘Staff Only’ emblazoned over it. 

 

He pushes through the doors without a care in the world, pulls her with him, and then the ambient noise of the party fades away into silence and it’s just the two of them, alone, in an empty hallway. 

 

“Hi.” He’s breathless, even though their hasty trek across the ballroom shouldn't have winded him. “You wore the dress. You’re so beautiful.” 

 

Tingly warmth spreads over her skin as her heart rate picks up. The sincerity in his words is grounding, and she really should have expected something like this from him instead of letting herself be taken by surprise. He’s always been a charming bastard but he has no right - absolutely no right - to do this to her. 

 

“I - thank you. You... too.” She’s not embarrassed by his scrutiny, not at all. And she’s definitely not questioning her choice to wear the dress that she’d picked all that time ago so that they’d match like some sickeningly sweet couple again. It makes her all twisty inside because she’d let herself get caught up in the romance of it all and now look where that got her. 

 

“You wanted to talk,” she reminds him as she takes a big step back, schooling her features so she appears unaffected. “So talk. We don’t have much time before we have to get back out there.”

 

If he’s surprised by her bluntness, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he rolls his shoulders back, clasps both his hands together and exhales loudly like he’s readying himself for something big.

 

Did he... practice this? Whatever _this_ is? Her heart melts. A little. 

 

“I know I... I messed up and you have every right to break up with me, but I -” 

 

She jumps in before he continues. _“You_ broke up with _me,”_ she snaps, and yeah, so what if she’s still bitter about that? “On TV. During a press conference.”

 

“I did _not!_ Felicity, what are you -"

 

Is he serious? 

 

“You stood _cheesing_ in front of a bunch of reporters, talking about how we’re ‘professionals’ and ‘adults’, and how the breakdown in our relationship wouldn't affect our work, and there I was, moping on my couch wondering if you were ever going to call me -”

 

“Felicity, _you_ walked out on us! You broke up with me, and then left the city to go home and -” 

 

“I said we needed a break, not that we needed to _break up!”_

 

She doesn’t try to keep the hysteria out of her voice, days and days of frustration and anger that had been building up finally spilling over. “Then, you refused to show up to work, and when you did, the first thing you do is announce to the whole damn world that we were _over!_ ” 

 

“I thought you said -” 

 

“I deserved more than that!” she thunders, and not even the dumbfounded, lost and panic-stricken look on his face can derail her. She jabs at him with a finger. “Especially after everything that happened! A polite, _‘Hey, by the way, I’m about to tell everyone the sordid details of our private life, heads up!’_ would have been nice, but no -”

 

“Felicity _, wait_ -” Oliver tries to catch her hand mid-jab but she avoids him and slaps her open palms against his chest instead, causing him to stumble backwards. 

 

“- you had to go live on TV, broadcast to the whole world how _doomed_ we were from the start because _‘there’s something to be said about dating your co-worker’_ like this whole stupid thing wasn’t _your_ fucking idea in the first place!” 

 

Later, when she thinks back to this moment, she’ll realise that through her entire furious tirade, Oliver had remained uncharacteristically slack-jawed, mouth hanging half open, frozen with disbelief and with something that looks like regret etched all over his face. 

 

She’ll remember how he seems to be struggling to figure out what it is that he wanted to talk to her about when he dragged her down the empty hallway. How he looks like she’s thrown him for a loop, even though any sane person privy to their situation should have expected an outburst like hers. 

 

Now though, overcome by the wave of emotions she’s kept suppressed since their ‘break up’, Oliver’s feelings are the furthest thing her mind. 

 

No, she’s had enough of him hiding from her, hiding behind his ‘busy work schedule’, and he can very well deal with her Loud Voice for two minutes while she unleashes on him. Her chest is heaving, threatening to split the seams on the side of her very pretty dress with every angry exhale and she has to slowly count to ten in her head before she snaps at him. Again.

 

He has his fingers loosely circled around her both her wrists in an attempt to prevent her from hitting him again, staring at her with furrowed brows, blinking dumbly while he slowly absorbs what she’s yelling at him.

 

At least she hopes he’s absorbing it, and not letting it bounce off his stupidly beautiful, thick skull.   

 

“Felicity.” 

 

His grip around her wrists tighten. She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, battling some internal war within himself as his tongue darts out to lick between his lips.    

 

She finds herself zeroing in on the movement, but catches herself in time. She’s not going to let him distract her with his (inexplicably talented) tongue. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Oliver,” she sighs. “Maybe I did, but that was before you decided to disappear on me, before you decided that -”

 

“Are you saying you didn’t want to break up with me?” He interrupts her before she can finish, suddenly letting go of her hands and stepping in closer, right into her personal space. 

 

His voice trembles in a low baritone, cracking over his words, before he repeats in a breathless whisper filled with bewilderment, “You... we didn’t break up?”  

 

It’s her turn to blink at him, stumped. “What are you getting at?” 

 

He opens and closes his mouth, swallows once before shaking his head to clear it. “I didn’t want to break up either! I thought we - I thought you meant you were _done_ with me. You walked out, and... I - Felicity, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I thought I lost you, ‘cause I’m a goddamn idiot and...” He trips over his own words, laced with an undercurrent of childlike excitement.

 

He slides his hand, warm and solid and so strong, up her cheek, and she can’t help the way she turns imperceptibly into his palm, having sorely missed the comfort that particular action brings with it.

 

Just like that, the tables turn on her. A wholly different sort of tension crackles between them. The steely resolve she’s been holding onto since arriving at the wedding threatens to crumble with every second that ticks by. 

 

‘ _Best thing that’s ever happened to me’. H_ ow dare he throw around phrases like that when she’s trying to stay mad at him? How dare he look at her like she’s the answer to every single problem in the universe, like some sort of holy saviour, like her mere presence has just given him a new lease on life? 

 

And proclaiming that he didn't want to break up as if he hadn’t made that choice for the both of them in the first place! The nerve of the guy! 

 

“Felicity, I’m an idiot,” he growls into the space between them, quiet and gruff. 

 

She scoffs. “I know.” 

 

He brings his other hand to curve around his waist and her traitor of a body lets him pull her in without much protest, despite her brain screaming at her to _s t o p._

 

Her heart stutters beneath her chest, stomach rolling and fluttering at their close proximity. If she leans forward just an inch, her nose can just about brush up against his scruff and - 

 

She barely manages stop herself in time, throwing her head back before she does something outrageously _stupid_ like kiss him. A gasp of surprise falls from her lips as she sways precariously on her heels and she has to spread her fingers out over the lapels of his suit to keep from falling backwards. 

 

“Don’t say it,” she mutters before Oliver has a chance to tell her to be careful. She takes a step back, letting go of his suit. It creates some much needed space between them after the super charged moment they just shared, and she’s grateful for it. 

 

Oliver on the other hand, doesn't seem to want the same reprieve. He crowds in close, not quite trapping her, but very much still within her personal space. “Please, hear me out. I have to tell you a few things. Important things.” 

 

How is she supposed to say _no_ when he’s exuding charm and desperation and has repeated the word _please_ like ten times in the last ten minutes?

 

“Okay,” she agrees over a sigh. 

 

“I had all this time to myself after Central City,” he winces at the memory, clearly still embarrassed by that entire situation, but ploughs on nonetheless. “And it got me thinking about everything you said when you left, about all my issues. About trying to prove to everyone else that I’m not _Ollie_ anymore, and losing sight of what’s important.” 

 

He peers at her with big, expressive eyes; bright blue, shimmering with anticipation, shy with reverence. “I realised that you were right. I took you for granted. Your belief in me, and your support - all of it, I just... I didn’t appreciate any of it the way I should have. I should have trusted you, I should have been honest with you from the start.”

 

If her head wasn’t currently spinning from trying to understand what he’s trying to tell her, she’d be impressed by his Felicity-level rambling. In all the time she’s known him, this is probably the most number of sentences he’s ever spoken in a single conversation and it’s rather amusing. And it appears he's not stopping any time soon. 

 

“The reason why I ducked you when I came back from Central City is because I wanted to fix the mess that I made. I didn't want to make any excuses, I know you already did the bulk of the work, which I know was entirely unfair and I promise I will make it up to you, but I wanted to own up to what I did. I went to the board and apologised, and, um and then I signed the papers to takeover from Walter.”   

 

Oh, he definitely rehearsed this. She pictures him in front of his mirror, reciting all of this to himself, over and over, and against her will a small smile - _hang on._

 

“The CEO papers?” she clarifies. 

 

“Yeah, those papers,” he affirms. 

 

She hears the pride on his words and it makes her tingly all over knowing that he’s _finally_ doing something to acknowledge his true potential. She beams at him - the first real smile she’s bestowed upon him all evening - and the squirmy, fluttery feeling in her heart multiplies tenfold.

 

“It’s the right time,” he declares. “I know I’m capable. This... I want to do this for me, obviously. And the company. But also... also for you. Because you always knew I could do it. I should have just listened to you from the start since you’re a genius, and you’re always right, and I, as we both know, am an absolute idiot. I guess I just want you to know that I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I owe you so much and I've been trying to figure out how to even start showing you how much you mean to me...” 

 

His impassioned speech peters off into an awkward silence, the implication of what he’s saying  dangling between them. If Felicity’s heart pounds any faster under her chest, it’s going to explode right out of her body like a chestburster from Alien. 

 

It’s not often Felicity’s at a loss for words, and less often still that it’s because of a _man._ Usually it’s the other way round; she’s the one rendering the opposite sex speechless with her scathingly sharp wit, or some unfortunate accidental innuendo, but in this instance, she finds herself hopelessly unable to articulate any part of the knotted up feelings that he’s invoking within her. Nothing she thinks of is good enough. 

 

In the end, it’s Oliver who speaks again. There's a strange look in his eyes, half-panicked, half-determined, and she doesn't know what to make of it, which doesn't make sorting out her feelings about him any easier. 

 

“You know, I was at Tommy’s bachelor’s party at Star Casino last night,” he begins, catching her off guard with the swift change in topic. “And it was going great and I was having a good time, but then when we got to the Blackjack table I remembered how you said you know how to count cards -”

 

“You’re supposed to keep that to yourself, Oliver.” He fixes her with an impatient glare and she presses her lips together, tilting her head for him to continue.

 

“It hit me - in the middle of what should've been an amazing, final night of Tommy’s bachelor-hood, despite the drinking and the dancing and the girls - that I didn’t really want to be there at all, so I left.” 

 

“You _left_ Tommy’s bachelor’s party?” she repeats incredulously. "Isn't that bad, as - right, okay, sorry. Continue."

 

“Because I wanted to be with _you._ I mean yes, I wanted to be there for Tommy, but with you too. And I kept thinking about how if you were there, maybe you’d teach me to count cards, or you’d use your skills to win all the poker games, or rig the slot machines to go in our favour -”

 

“I really don’t know why you think I’d be at Tommy’s bachelor’s party in the first place...”

 

“My _point is,_ Felicity,” he stresses as he sends her a withering look, “That I didn’t want to be there without you.” He runs a hand through his hair, frowning. He shakes his head. “It didn’t feel right being... happy without you. Fuck, I’m not - I’m not saying this right.” 

 

“I’m an idiot,” he reiterates. “And what I’ve realised, besides the fact that I’m an idiot, is that I’m also... not _me_ , without you. You... you bring out the best version of me, and I hate who I am without you. And being broken up? I hate it. I hate not being able to talk to you. I keep... I keep wanting to tell you things about my day, or about whatever funny thing I’ve just read on the internet, and I _can’t_ and it’s just _horrible._ ” 

 

Mmm. Yeah, she knows the feeling.

 

Good to know she hasn’t been alone in her misery.

 

She opens her mouth to respond but Oliver silences her, bravely taking her hand in his and twining their fingers together. He’s not done. Okay. 

 

“You know what _else_ I realised then? That I should have fought for you.”

 

Her jaw drops before she repeats his sentence slowly. “You should have fought... for me?”

 

“You deserve someone who’s willing to fight for you. Someone who doesn’t just let you leave in a huff. Someone... better. And I know I can be better. So I'm fighting for you now. Us. If - if you’ll have me. If it isn't too late. I’m sorry I couldn’t see it earlier. I’m so sorry I let you go. Please, let me make it up to you.”

 

It’s funny; he all but disappeared on her the moment she left Central City, avoided her presence at work for days, and yet here he is now, so very _present,_ with a combination of hope and determination reflected on his face, his hand refusing to let go of hers as if he’s afraid she’ll leave him again the second he does.

 

His quiet, confident declaration of _being better for her_ is still ringing in her ears, sounding suspiciously like he’s promising her _commitment_ and isn’t this exactly what she wanted all along? For Oliver to realise that they’re good together, despite what the naysayers think? For him to come into his own, for him to see himself the way she sees him? She's wanted proof, solid proof, that he isn't the same dumb kid he used to be before and isn't that  _exactly_ what he's giving her right now?

 

Her fingers twitch involuntarily within his grasp and she succumbs to the need to touch him - more of him. She pulls her fingers out of his and then slides both of her hands up his front, over his broad chest. 

 

“Oilver, I...” she swallows the lump in her throat. _God,_ she’s missed him so much. All she can manage is a strangled, “Wow. Oliver.”

 

His face splits into a grin, a little cocky, a little relieved. He covers her hands with his, his entire body brimming with hope. “Wow, wow is _good,_ yeah?” 

 

“As far as apologies go...” Felicity lets out a huff of laughter mid-sentence, still not quite believing this strange, bewildering turn of events. She tips her head up at him and allows a smile of her own to stretch over her lips. 

 

“That was pretty amazing.”

* * *

 

Amazing. 

 

_Amazing._

 

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, not when there’s a small chance his poor, brittle heart could still be crushed by the breathtakingly gorgeous woman standing in front of him, but _amazing_ \- that has got to be a good thing.

 

Felicity shrugs. “I mean, it’s not a ‘message in the sky’ level apology but -”

 

“That can be arranged if that’s what it takes.”

 

“Absolutely _not."_ The playful smirk adorning her face is a sight for sore eyes, and fills him with such lightness, a kind of freedom that he’s hasn’t felt since their stupid, stupid fight in Central City. 

 

He drops his gaze deliberately to her lips, feeling bolder and more confident now that he’s finally said what he needed to say. The weight of everything he’s had to deal with over the last few days has finally lifted off his shoulders and the ball is now in her court, so if he wants to stare at her lips and think about kissing the hell out of them - well. He will. 

 

Their interactions have always been interlaced with a simmering level of chemistry, even before they got together, and this particular moment isn’t much different. Their hands are still clasped together against his chest, radiating warmth right through to his galloping heart, and unless she physically tears her hand out of his, he isn’t letting go.

 

Never again.

 

“Or do you want me to write you another letter?” he jokes in an attempt to alleviate building tension between them. “The first one brought you to me, after all.” 

 

“It brought _you_ to me, actually,” Felicity murmurs, gently sliding her hand out of his, and moving to fiddle with his bow tie. “You stormed right into my office, if I recall. All worked up because you were missing lunch.” 

 

“But only after you summoned me down there.”

 

“Hm. I suppose you're right.”  

 

This familiar banter is good. The way she’s leaning into him is good. Her hands creeping up the front of his crisp white shirt - _very_ good. 

 

Besides the acknowledgement of his ‘amazing’ apology, she hasn’t really indicated that she wants to, but he’s hopeful. He allows himself to believe that this means she’s open to the idea of getting back together. Allows himself to entertain the possibility of being happy again, with her, for a long, long time to come. 

 

“Did you mean it?” Felicity asks softly, eyes fixed steadily on him. Her head tilts forward, slowly closing the gap between them. “Everything you just said?” 

 

He notices for the first time that there’s a dusting of glitter over her eyelids and her lashes and when she blinks, trails of glitter fall onto the apple of her cheeks. Under the fluorescent light she looks like an angel, ethereal, glowing - perfect. 

 

Jesus, he’ll do anything - _anything_ to have her back in his life. 

 

“Yes.” He nods emphatically, his voice strong with conviction. “Yes. Felicity. All of it.” 

 

And then she’s tugging on both ends of his bow tie and leaning up and her lips - _oh how he’s missed her lips_ \- are on his. She tastes just like he remembers, soft and gentle, and he luxuriates in the familiar scent of vanilla and lavender on her skin. 

 

She keeps it chaste, closed lipped and modest to an extent. But then he feels her smile into him, and he can’t help but suck her bottom lip between his and then he’s twisting, pulling her up and turning so he can back her up against the wall. 

 

He swallows her gasp of surprise with a quick nip, pleased that he still can elicit such reactions from her. Her hands curl around the back of his neck, holding on to him as he curves both of his around her waist. 

 

“Does this -” He drags his scruff along her jaw as he whispers in her ear, preening when he feels her shiver under him. “- mean you forgive me? Are we back together?” 

 

“I wasn’t the one who broke us up in the first place,” Felicity bites back, bumping her nose against his before kissing him some more. She applies a little pressure behind his neck, nails scratching skin and yeah, that’s _doing_ things to him. 

 

“Mmm okay, then we're definitely together again. Good. Great.” he mumbles, and Felicity’s chuckle is music to his ears. She rolls her hips against him and that’s all the agreement he needs. Yeah, he can get behind that. "Never breaking up with you ever again. Let’s get outta here, I have so much to make up -" 

 

“There you are. What the _hell?!”_

 

Immediately, the haze of lust clears. Felicity shoves him away from her, a dark look on her face as if she hadn’t been an equal participant in their impromptu make out session. He winks at her disgruntled-ness and turns around to face the intruder, surreptitiously adjusting his pants. 

 

“Oh, Thea. Hey,” he breathes, relieved that she’s not someone with a camera phone looking for an easy payday. “Thank God.” 

 

“Don’t thank me yet. Laurel’s on the warpath - you’re meant to be giving your speech in like three minutes and she’s having a fit about the empty seats at your tables,” Thea tells them, frowning. After a beat, the frown melts into teasing amusement as she glances back and forth between the two of them.  

 

He can practically see his sister slowly putting things together, gears clicking in her head.  

 

“So...” she drawls, with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “You two are back on then?” 

 

“Turns out we were never off,” Oliver remarks sheepishly. 

 

Felicity makes a noise in the back of her throat like she’s about to protest, but when he turns to her, she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Her hands glide down her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles from their - activities - and she shrugs at Thea. 

 

“We were just testing your social media managerial skills. You passed,” she deadpans, but the grin she’s trying to suppress breaks through her unaffected front when Thea squeals in delight, rushing forward to embrace her in a tight hug. 

 

“I’m so happy you guys made up! You know, I was hoping that’s why you disappeared. Plus, we’re sitting at the same table, it would have been so awkward and I was so worried when I I saw the seating chart, but not anymore though!” Thea rambles before pulling away. 

 

Oliver watches the exchange between the two most important women in his life silently; happy and content and bursting with gratitude.

 

His life hasn’t exactly gone the way he thought it would, but he ended up exactly right where he wants to be. He’s fixed his relationship with Thea, found his place at the company and, even though he hasn’t told her yet, also found the woman he’s going to do everything in his power to spend the rest of his life with. 

 

“C’mon,” Thea’s saying, pulling Felicity with her as she pushes open the double doors that lead back into the ballroom. “Ollie can stand there mooning at you all night if he wants but I, personally, do not want to incur the wrath of Laurel for, God forbid, leaving our table with two empty chairs for too long.” 

 

Felicity allows herself to be dragged away, offering Oliver a helpless look over her shoulder as she trails after his younger sister. “Later,” she mouths at him, accompanying it with a salacious wink.

 

Mm, yeah, he’s going to hold her to that. 

 

The two of them go through the doors and he gives himself a quick once over before he follows suit. Thankfully, the evidence of his mini-tryst with Felicity has subsided, his bow tie seems to be on straight and - he pats his back pocket once for reassurance - his speech is right where it’s supposed to be. Perfect. 

 

Just as he squares his shoulders, readying himself to make his appearance once more, Thea sticks her head back through the double doors, concern etched between her brows. 

 

“What’s up?” he asks.

 

“Um, so turns out your ex, McKenna and some girl named Shado is here.”

 

Oh no. 

 

“Asking for you.”

 

_Hell_ no. 

 

“And something about a letter?” 

 

The blood drains from his face. Drops of sweat form on his skin. His heart drops into his stomach. No way. In Hell - 

 

Off in the distance, from somewhere behind Thea, he hears a peal of laughter that sounds suspiciously like it’s coming from Felicity, loud, and entirely _too_ amused. 

 

_“Oh fu-”_

* * *

END

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this, everyone! Love all of you lots, and hope to see you again for my next one! As always, comments and kudos are very, very much appreciated. 
> 
> xoxo
> 
> Twitter: @griever_11


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